Rising Sun
by spectre4hire
Summary: Marcus Cousland never wanted to be a soldier. He preferred to read about battles rather than fighting in them. He never saw himself as a leader or a warrior, but in order to save Ferelden, he must become both. He not only has to defeat a Blight, but he must unite a fractured country under one banner, his. AU DA: Origins Novelization. -On hiatus-
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The Dragon Age world, characters, creations, and general story line is the property of Bioware. I'm simply having fun with some ideas. **

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><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter One**

**Location: Southron Hills, Ferelden**

The darkspawn were everywhere. They were surrounded.

A legion that had once consisted of thirty soldiers was now down to five soldiers and a mabari war-hound. They consisted of the second son of the Teyrn of Highever, his mabari war hound, a soldier from Gwaren, two brothers from Lothering, and a Grey Warden.

Marcus Cousland, who was in charge of the soldiers could only wonder what blunders had he made to put his men in such an ill predicament. He had no time for reflections, since he and his companions was still fighting a large group of darkspawn. If he was lucky and he survived this battle, then he'd have the luxury of being able to look back and reflect at his mistakes. But for now his only focus was surviving.

He gripped his sword in one hand, while holding his shield with the Cousland heraldry in the other. He charged the nearest group of darkspawn. Marcus could hear his faithful mabari hound at his side. He led shield first into the teeth of the hurlocks, toppling two over. Padfoot, pounced on the closest, slicing the darkspawn's exposed throat with his sharp claws.

The last hurlock, who had avoided Marcus' attack, let out a guttural snarl before swinging its sword at him. He was just able to avoid the strike with a quick sidestep. Marcus then went back onto the offensive, but the hurlock was able to deflect his strikes, Marcus finished his movement by leading with his shield, smashing it into the hurlock's face. It shuffled backwards, tripping over another darkspawn that had been trying to get to its feet.

Marcus never gave it a chance to recover, killing it with a quick thrust of his sword into the darkspawn's face. Padfoot attacked the other, the large war-hound jumping on top of the hurlock before it could regain its footing. The mabari then brought its massive paws onto the hurlock's throat. The weight alone was enough to break the darkspawn's neck. Its feeble writhing came to a sudden stop.

"Good boy," Marcus grinned behind his steel helm. He looked around to see how the others were faring. The two brothers from Lothering were to his left. One was wielding a greatsword, while the other favored two identical daggers.

To his right was the Grey Warden, who had just decapitated a hurlock warrior. The corpse joined a growing pile of recent kills that the Grey Warden had collected in the last few minutes. Like Marcus, he used sword and shield. Unlike Marcus, the Grey Warden was better skilled and trained in the art of combat.

Lastly, the soldier from Gwaren and the only woman amongst them; she wielded a greatsword with ease that seemed impossible for her size. She cleaved through a charging hurlock, stopping the creature in its tracks.

"That's the last of them," she commented, effortlessly pulling her greatsword out of the hurlock's caved-in skull.

The Grey Warden shook his head. "No, more are coming."

"How do you know?" asked the Lothering soldier with the greatsword.

"I can sense them," was the Grey Warden's cryptic reply.

"That's a neat trick," commented the other Lothering brother glibly.

His response elicited a tired sigh from his brother. "Do you have to jest now, Garrett?"

Garrett let out a feigning huff. "If not now then when, sourpuss?"

"Don't call me that," snarled the brother.

Garret only grinned, looking quite pleased at himself for being able to rile up his brother so easily.

Marcus cut in before the two brothers could go any further. "Garrett, Carver, save it for the darkspawn."

Carver nodded, before shooting a frown at his brother, who responded with a simple shrug.

Satisfied, that the two brothers would stop bickering, and that they had a moment of reprieve from battle, Marcus carefully removed his helm. His face was immediately greeted by a gentle soft wind that caressed his flushed face. Cradling the helm under his arm, Marcus turned to the blonde Grey Warden. "How long do we have?"

"Not very long," he answered.

"Then use some poultices and let's prepare ourselves." Marcus instructed his band of survivors. He looked around the small patch of grass that he and the others had taken to use for their last stand. Since they were surrounded by all sides by heavy forest, it made it very easy for the darkspawn to hide from them.

Marcus had taken his legion away from the bulk of the king's army, to scout the forested area for infestations of darkspawn and to try to find the locations that led them from the underground up to the forest. They found the darkspawn, and lost most of the legion in the process of trying to survive. This was Marcus' first time as leader and he had failed miserably. He had been given his command from the man he was apprenticing-the Hero of the River Dane, Loghain Mac Tir.

His two-year apprenticeship should have ended two weeks ago, but he was called on to stay longer to assist the Ferelden General against the first wave of emerging darkspawn. This was the third skirmish between the two sides. The first two had been routs for King Cailan. This one had already proven too costly for Marcus' consciousness.

"It's not your fault."

He turned to one of his oldest friends, who had just spoken. She was clad in red-steel armor, with a greatsword holstered to her back. She had long black hair that she had pulled into a ponytail for combat, but a few strands had slipped loose to frame her face. She had high cheekbones with alert storm-gray eyes that were currently looking him over carefully. She looked petite, but beneath that armor was a very strong and durable woman.

This was Ser Cauthrien.

"I was in command, and they died." Marcus growled. "Who else could it be?"

"Them," she answered, unflinching at his tone. She gestured to the hurlock corpse at her feet.

Marcus wanted to believe her, but he couldn't. Those men had followed his orders, they trusted in his judgment, and the only thing they got for it was death.

He sighed, closing his eyes trying to bury the fresh memories of having to watch his men get cut-down by the darkspawn. He never thought himself a soldier or a leader, and today he had been called to do both.

_Our greatest glory is not in never falling, son, but in rising every time we fall._ Marcus remembered these words from his father, the Teyrn of Highever—Bryce Cousland. He had told it to him often as he grew up and was taught the ways of court and the roles of nobility. Reflecting on the words now, he saw the wisdom in his father's advice, realizing he was right.

He took a deep breath to steady himself for the next wave of darkspawn. He turned to Cauthrien, giving her a thankful nod, which she returned. But before either could speak, their somber moment was interrupted by the squabbling of the Hawke brothers.

"What are you doing, Garrett?" asked an exasperated Carver.

Garrett Hawke was on his knees next to a hurlock. The rogue had sheathed his daggers and was currently rummaging through the darkspawn's belongings. Garrett instead of answering his brother's question held out a gold piece, smiling triumphantly at his find.

"Is that a sovereign?" asked a dumbfounded Cauthrien.

Garrett, who was still grinning, nodded, "and a few silvers." He held out his other hand to show a few silver pieces.

Carver resembled a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth, but was unable to forge any sort of reply to his brother's discovery.

"What would darkspawn want with money?" asked Marcus, confused and curious at why the darkspawn would be carrying money.

The Grey Warden shrugged. "Who knows, maybe they were just trying to do some shopping?"

Garrett laughed. "That's why they came to the surface! Not for a Blight, they just wanted to shop!"

Cauthrien rolled her eyes before mumbling, "Boys."

Marcus felt his lips twitch into a smile at the antics of Garrett and the Grey Warden. However, when Cauthrien turned to him, he pressed his lips into a thin line. Hoping to convey his disapproval, but he didn't think Cauthrien bought it.

"Oh brother," Carver moaned.

"Don't worry, brother. The first drink at Dane's Refuge is on me!"

The Grey Warden, who had been smiling, suddenly tensed up. The amusement that had shimmered in his brown eyes disappeared, when he spoke: "They're here."

Marcus slid his helm back on, preparing himself for another round of fighting. His question on where the darkspawn were coming from was drowned out by a loud volley of vicious growls that were coming from all sides. A dozen or more of the short, stubby darkspawn known as genlocks emerged from the shadows of the forest, surrounding Marcus and the others.

"Rally to me," Marcus ordered, his companions back-pedaling to form a tight circle that had helped them fight off the last wave of hurlock soldiers. In this position, it was impossible for the darkspawn to sneak up on any of them, since all of their backs were covered.

As if expecting their movement, a handful of genlock archers appeared to their left, arrows already notched in their crossbows.

"Shit," cursed Marcus, upon realizing their dire position. "I'll take the archers." He didn't wait for a reply, taking off towards the genlocks with his faithful mabari at his side.

The archers released their first volley.

Marcus raised his shield, feeling at least two arrows deflect off. From the corner of his eye, he could see Padfoot changing direction in his charge to avoid the arrows.

The genlocks quickly swapped out their crossbows for curved daggers. The darkspawn let out nasty snarls before meeting the charging Cousland and hound.

"Get'em, boy!"

Padfoot suddenly stopped in mid-trot, arching his back; he snapped his head up and let out a loud, powerful howl. The howl was so loud it cut through all other noises across the battlefield. The genlock in the front stumbled backwards, startled and spooked by the terrifying sound.

Marcus seeing his advantage, leapt in between two of the fallen genlocks. He smashed his shield into the face of one, who had been trying to get up. He shifted his attention to the second darkspawn, swinging his sword in a low cutting arc, his blade met darkspawn flesh cutting through the genlock's exposed neck for a quick kill.

He turned back around to the first genlock, who he had assaulted with his shield to see it was still disoriented from the shield bash. Marcus thrust his sword into the genlock, the tip of his blade carving its way through the skin at the base of the genlock's neck. The genlock's head lolled to the side, before the body sagged to the ground.

Marcus slid the strap of his shield onto his shoulder, freeing up his left hand, which he used to slip into his small travel bag, pulling out a flask which was filled with what looked to be liquid fire. It was a firebomb. He uncorked the flask, looking up and letting out a sharp whistle, signaling to Padfoot not to approach. Marcus then tossed the firebomb at the remaining genlocks.

The fire erupted as soon as it made contact. The liquid flames splattered in all directions; the sticky, flammable substance attaching itself onto the genlocks. The darkspawn howled in agony, trying to douse the flames with their stubby hands. The exposure and the burns proved too much, as the genlocks fell over one by one dead, bodies consumed by the flames, as their corpses continued to burn.

Looking out at the smoldering darkspawn, a satisfied Marcus slid his arm back into his shield strap, very thankful for the devastation that the firebomb was able to amass on his target. A sudden and sharp whine broke through his observations of the devastation left behind by the firebomb, he felt a sudden chill fill his insides upon hearing that whine, because he recognized instantly. It was Padfoot.

He spun around just in time to see a genlock removing a dagger from Padfoot's flesh. The darkspawn had immersed itself in smoke to issue the deadly backstab to his faithful mabari hound. Padfoot's legs buckled, wobbling beneath his shaking body, the mabari collapsed onto his stomach, letting out another pitiful, painful moan.

Seeing his beloved mabari in such a state brought a primal reaction out of Marcus, fueled by a growing mixture of anger and fear, Marcus jumped into the fray of combat. So detached from the consequences and throwing caution to the wind, his only desire at the moment was to kill that genlock. He led with his sword, swinging it in a low arc in hopes of cleaving the genlock in two. The rogue easily deflected Marcus' sword with its twin daggers, letting out a guttural cackle of delight

The genlock may be short and stout, but it was incredibly nimble on its feet. Showing off its agile foot-speed while continuing to deflect, avoid, and parry each one of Marcus' advances. After the last deflection, a frustrated Marcus looked up to see the darkspawn continue with its wordless taunt. The sick gleam in its dark eyes, coupled with its lipless smile was enough to send the young nobleman over the edge.

Marcus snarled at the genlock, feigning to his left with his sword. The darkspawn took the bait, bending and angling itself to prepare for a strike that would never come. Instead, Marcus swung high, going for the clean decapitation in one fluid arc of his blade. The genlock's only response was an open gape of its lipless mouth at the deception it had fallen for; before its head was removed from its body.

He didn't watch to see where the head rolled. He ran over to his hound, falling on his knees when he came to his mabari's side. Padfoot barely reacted to his presence, lying on his stomach; the mabari was shaking, his bag legs fidgeting, while he whimpered. With one hand, Marcus tried to soothe his hound, by gently stroking Padfoot's head, with the other; he pushed up the blood-caked fur to further examine the wound.

At the moment, Marcus wasn't in the middle of a battlefield. He wasn't surrounded by fighting and death, in this moment it was just him and hound, with Marcus' undivided attention on his injured hound, his sole focus on trying to save Padfoot, his faithful mabari who was imprinted to him five years ago. Marcus reached into the bag, still petting Padfoot with his other hand, using his other hand to fumble through different vials and discarded flasks, when his fingers brushed up against a mabari crunch.

He pulled the snack out of his bag, bringing it to Padfoot's nose. His hound sniffed it before slowly opening his mouth to accept the treat. Marcus gently deposited the crunch into the jaws of Padfoot's mouth, as the hound was able to chew on the crunch unassisted.

Momentarily content, Marcus looked around him to make sure they hadn't been overwhelmed by darkspawn and to check on his other companions to see they were faring well, successfully finishing off the remnants of the remaining genlocks. Pleased, Marcus turned his attention back to the matter-at-hand. He retrieved a yellowish balm from his bag, applying a generous amount of the sticky substance onto his hands, lathering it before he applied the balm to Padfoot's wound. Padfoot jolted in place, whining loudly in protest when Marcus' fingers began to apply the balm to the hound's wound.

"Hush, boy," Marcus soothed, his mabari, who quieted in protest, allowing Marcus to further lather the balm on the wound and the area around it. The substance bubbled on contact with the wound before being absorbed. The wound had stopped bleeding, and it began to fade in color and size, leaving behind a barely noticeable scar that would soon be covered by fur.

He let out a sigh of relief, with his fingers currently covered in the balm, he leaned over and kissed Padfoot's brow. His mabari responded with a soft bark that bordered on a whimper. Marcus quickly wiped his hands and fingers on a cleaning cloth, before tossing the remaining bits of the balm and the cloth back into his bag. He scrubbed the fur at the crown of Padfoot's head before standing up, slipping the bag over his shoulders as he did. Padfoot too pushed himself up, his legs wobbled for a moment, but the hound looked fit and ready for action. He turned his bulky head over to Marcus for approval.

He smiled, scratching the hound behind his ear before adding a few gentle taps, to show his appreciation and affection. The moment between master and hound didn't last. A shout from Cauthrien, brought Marcus' attention back to the battle at-hand.

"We got more coming!" shouted Cauthrien. The Gwaren soldier was leading the remaining survivors admirably. Barking orders to make sure they remained in position and alert for the new wave of fast approaching darkspawn.

In that moment of admiration, Marcus could only wonder why he was put in charge and not Cauthrien. She was doing a better job than he ever could. She wouldn't have been distracted or so self-focused as he had just been for Padfoot. He pushed down those thoughts and the accompanied guilt knowing that there would be another time, right now the others needed him.

Marcus looked over his shoulder just in time to see the new wave of darkspawn crash onto the group. Cauthrien, Carver, and the Grey Warden were anchoring their position as warriors they were better suited to taking the bulk of the darkspawn charge. Wanting to relieve their burden, Marcus charged the darkspawn line that was entangled in battle with the others.

"Marcus, watch out!" He heard Cauthrien shout.

He never saw the attack. It was like no other attack that he had ever felt. It was as if he smashed up against an invisible barrier, and before he could process it, he felt his body being lifted several feet off of the ground. He lost control of his appendages as if invisible strings had attached itself to his arms and legs, he was no longer in control of his own body. Unable to keep his grip on his weapons, they dropped under his floating body.

He felt a whooping sensation through his stomach and then pain. It was pain on the likes of which he had never experienced before. It was as if a large invisible hand had wrapped itself around his body before squeezing. The grip was suffocating, applying more and more pressure onto his torso. His armor was beginning to cut into his flesh, he began to involuntarily gag and cough at the surmounting pressure on his ribs. White blotches began seeping into his vision. He was feeling lightheaded, unsure of how much longer he could endure such pain.

Suddenly there was a white flash. Instantaneous to the flash, the pressure softened, released from the suffocating grip, he collapsed back onto the ground. Having fallen on his stomach, Marcus had just enough time to push himself up into a sitting position, before vomiting blood and bile. He blinked back tears, as the burning sensation from the bile crawled up his throat, with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. His knees were firmly planted into the dirt. He looked up to see the one responsible for his condition was a hurlock emissary.

The staff wielding darkspawn was quickly cut down by the Grey Warden. Marcus assumed that it had been the Warden that had somehow been able to cancel the spell that the emissary had attacked him with.

Marcus groaned. His breaths coming in painful short rasps, pricks of pain flared up across his chest, arms, torso, and legs from where his armor had dug painfully deep into his flesh. He could feel droplets of blood from some of these pricks. His heart that had been thundering was slowly being soothed and returning to its normal rhythm. He self-consciously ran his fingers through over his dented chest-plate.

"You okay?" It was the Grey Warden.

"What was that?" Marcus croaked his voice raw from the emissary spell.

"Crushing prison," was the grim reply.

"The name lives up to it," Marcus responded bitterly. Every word scratched his throat.

The Warden pulled him back to his feet, when Marcus asked his next question. "How did you stop it?"

"I was trained as a Templar before joining the Grey Wardens."

He nodded in understanding, realizing the tactical advantage for the Grey Wardens in recruiting within the Templars, knowing those skills would be needed when they fought darkspawn emissaries. Marcus picked up his discarded sword and shield, careful to step around his puddle of vomit. The grip on his hilt tightened when he watched more and more darkspawn began streaming out of the forest towards the others. It seemed the darkspawn's strategy had changed from trying to pick them off by small numbers to overwhelming them.

The Grey Warden not waiting another second charged towards an unsuspecting genlock, slamming the darkspawn to the ground with his shield before finishing it off with a swift strike of his sword.

Marcus was about to follow the Warden's lead, he wanted to enter the fray and help out the others from this darkspawn onslaught. However, he hadn't taken a few steps when a sudden cackle from his left caused him to immediately stop and tense, turning away from the others and towards his left to see just in time a genlock tossing a flask filled with green liquid at him.

He instinctively held up his shield, bracing for impact when the flask shattered against it. Noxious fumes and green acid materialized, corroding through the shield. Marcus choked and coughed on the cloud of toxins, discarding his shield in the process which had been chewed through by the acid. The genlock responsible gave him a lipless triumphant sneer, its dark eyes gleaming, as it withdrew its pair of daggers in a wordless taunt.

The second Cousland son took the bait. He charged the darkspawn, who was just able to deflect the first strike of Marcus' sword. Yet, it was Marcus who soon realized that he had the disadvantage. Without his shield, Marcus was poorly trained to fight, all of his training had been with sword and shield, and even with both, he was only marginally decent. And now without his shield, he was off-balance. He silently cursed his stupidity from his rash decision.

His opponent seemed to sense Marcus' weakness, pressing the advantage. Marcus sidestepping a darkspawn strike that would have cut through his underarm and possibly would've sliced off his arm from the shoulder. The genlock rogue pressed its advantage with a series of ferocious offensive strikes causing Marcus to remain on the defensive, back-pedaling, while simultaneously trying to keep his balance and parry away the attacks so that he wouldn't be sliced to ribbons.

Marcus tried to match the darkspawn's aggression, switching from a defensive to a more offensive stance, assaulting the rogue with broad swings of his longsword. The genlock easily parried, avoiding Marcus' clumsy strikes when he leaned in for a thrust, the darkspawn was waiting, twirling its daggers in its chubby wrists, before using the hilt to smash into Marcus' gut.

He coughed at the thundering blow, feeling the wind being knocked out of him. His legs buckled, collapsing to his knees. The genlock cackled in delight, raising its daggers and preparing to finish him off with a clean decapitation. Marcus looked into the dark eyes of his executioner. The genlock met his stare, with a malicious glint in its dark eyes, raising its daggers to initiate the fluid, scissoring motion.

Marcus didn't have time to blink, when a guttural scream burst through the genlock's lipless mouth. A sword blade followed, the tip of the blade penetrating through the darkspawn's torso, before poking out of the chest of the creature. The genlock used its last bit of strength to look down at the protruding blade, before it collapsed, revealing Marcus' savior. He had tan skin, dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. The man had an equally dark beard. He was dressed in silverite armor; on the chest plate was the griffon insignia. This man was a Grey Warden.

There was suddenly a deafening chorus of shouting and battle cries as Ferelden soldiers began pouring out of the forest charging straight at the darkspawn. The creatures tried to hold their ground, but they were overwhelmed in seconds, by the sheer force coupled with the wave of enthusiastic soldiers. When the last hurlock fell, the soldiers cheered. The battle was over. They had won this day.

But not everyone was celebrating the victory. Cauthrien was at Marcus' side, seconds after the soldiers erupted in cheer. She looked him over with concern grey eyes. Padfoot made his presence known too, letting out a soft whine, before nudging his bulky head into Marcus' shoulder.

Marcus smiled, raising his hand to reward the hound's affection with a scratch behind his ears. "I'm fine Cauthrien," he said, thankful for his friend's concern. He then gestured to the man standing in front of him, "Only because of him."

The Grey Warden spoke in a slight accent. "We were afraid, we would be too late."

"Tell that to their families," grumbled Marcus, pushing himself off of the ground.

"Your skill as a soldier and leader is not in whom or how many you lose, but how you react to the travesty. Will you grieve or will you vow to do better, Lord Cousland?"

Marcus looked up to see that it was none other than Loghain Mac Tir. The Teyrn of Gwaren was dressed in his iconic silverite River Dane Armor. His long black hair was slicked back, save for two braided strands which fell over his face. His face showed a few signs of age with incoming wrinkles, but his alert blue eyes signaled that there was still energy and strength within him.

Loghain had told him that line many times during his apprenticeship. It was one thing to hear it in a sparring match or a drill, but quite another in the aftermath of a real battle. They were wise words, but it still made it difficult for Marcus to apply them. With the responsibility of so many soldiers' deaths on his shoulders, he didn't think words were the appropriate balm to soothe the pain.

"Your Grace," replied Cauthrien, her posture instinctively straightened up.

"You did well both of you," complimented, a pleased Loghain.

"They had help, ya know!" chirped Garrett. The Lothering rogue was standing a few feet away from them. He flashed them a smile when Marcus and the others turned in his direction.

"Garrett!" protested Carver. The younger brother looking horrified was quick to mumble an apology before dragging his brother away.

"Is that it? Did we win the battle?" asked Marcus, trying not to sound too hopeful. He just wanted to go home. He had fought enough darkspawn. He had had his share of battles to last a lifetime.

Loghain regarded him for a moment before answering. "Yes, we have won the field."

Marcus let out a sigh of relief.

"The King requests our company back in Denerim."

Cauthrien turned to the Teyrn of Gwaren with a puzzled expression, "Denerim, but why?"

"He needs to rally some more banns. I presume before deciding where to make our stand."

"Our stand?" repeated Marcus.

"Yes, our glorious stand against the Darkspawn," Loghain's tone made it clear that he was not too pleased with the King's choice of strategy. "However, you do not need to worry Lord Cousland," Loghain seemingly sensing Marcus' apprehension. "Your apprenticeship is over and upon returning to Denerim you will be discharged."

"Thank you, General," Marcus replied, trying to keep his tone neutral. He didn't want to betray his relief or happiness that he was finally finished. He had learned a lot from the Teyrn, varying in tactics, leadership, and strategy these past two years.

"You were a good squire and you have the tangibles to become a great leader," he observed. "However, you must stop doubting yourself. You cannot allow your past dictate your future."

"I will try, ser."

"Don't try, do," corrected Loghain.

"Yes, ser."

Loghain's eyes lingered on him for a moment before nodding. "It's a shame that you are returning to Highever. We could use more soldiers like you." The Teyrn of Gwaren then turned to Cauthrien.

"Well done, Cauthrien, I think you may have earned the right of lieutenant with your performance."

Cauthrien puffed out her chest. She held her head high, at such a prestigious reward. "Thank you, ser; I am honored."

Marcus' blue eyes lingered on her armored chest. A few memories of their nights together, surfaced to the front of his mind. When he closed his eyes, he could still remember her touch, her taste, her scent in those intimate encounters.

Loghain cleared his throat.

Marcus immediately turned away, his cheeks reddening at being caught staring by Loghain. However, it seemed that it went unnoticed by his friend; Cauthrien's attention remained on the Teyrn. He was thankful for the arrival of the approaching pair of Grey Wardens. One of them was the one who had saved Marcus, while the second was the Grey Warden who had fought beside Marcus and Cauthrien.

It was the accented Grey Warden who spoke first. "Alistair just finished telling me of your success against the darkspawn."

"He surely exaggerates, I did no better than any of the others," Marcus deflected the praise. Not out of humility, but guilt and grief. He was uncomfortable with receiving any praise after he had allowed so many men to die under his command.

Padfoot barked in agreement.

"Still, the Grey Wardens would be honored to have someone of your skill amongst our Order."

"Surely you jest, Duncan?" asked Loghain stepping into the conversation. The Teyrn didn't look happy at the thought of Marcus joining the Grey Wardens.

Marcus knowing Loghain's dislike for the Order stepped in not wanting any escalation. "I am humbled, Duncan, but I have no interest in joining your Order. I only wish to return to my family and tend to the business of Highever."

Duncan must have sensed the hostility radiating off of Loghain since he acquiesced. "Of course, Lord Cousland, I meant no implications."

"It was not taken."

"Then we shall take our leave," Duncan said gesturing to himself and Alistair. "We need to speak with the King and regroup with the other Wardens."

Marcus stepped towards Alistair, a man who he only met a few hours ago, but nonetheless a strong bond of respect had been formed between him and the other soldiers who Marcus had fought with. "I appreciate your help, good ser."

Alistair looked taken aback at first but his confident smile soon returned when he shook Marcus' hand. "Oh that's what I am here for- The heroics and fine cheeses."

Marcus cocked a single brow at the sudden mention of cheese, unsure of what he was referring to, but he never got an explanation since the two Wardens excused themselves. Loghain too, had left to form some semblance of order from the soldiers, leaving Marcus alone with his friend and former lover—Cauthrien.

"Had your fill of grand adventures have you?"

He turned to see a growing smile her face. "Be careful, Cauthrien. You keep smiling like that and men might think you're approachable."

She immediately frowned at the inside joke between them. She then playfully swatted his shoulder with her gauntleted hand. "No need to be an ass."

He smiled and shrugged. "My apologies, Ser, or should I say Lieutenant?"

The faintest blush could be seen on Cauthrien's high cheekbones. "Surely not, you would probably jinx my chances."

"You wound me, Ser Cauthrien," Marcus replied, dramatically clutching his chest.

She shook her head, but a small smile could be seen through her serious demeanor. "Keep it up and I will." She then brought a hand to the hilt of her greatsword.

He immediately held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "You win."

"When do I not?" replied a triumphant Cauthrien.

The daughter of a farmer and the son of Teyrn had always been close. She had served under Loghain since before her thirteenth year and often visited Highever with the Teyrn's family. Loghain's daughter, Anora was brought to study politics and court etiquette by Marcus' mother-Eleanor. This left Marcus, Cauthrien, and Nathaniel time to spar or explore the castle and its grounds.

Their friendship was only strengthened when he took the apprenticeship under Loghain. In this time, he and Cauthrien became lovers. It had happened one spring night when the two had finished a rather grueling round of sparring and one thing sort of led to another and they were soon practicing a different kind of sparring. The intimacy only lasted a few weeks, both mutually agreed to put an end to it. They realized that nothing good could come from it. He was the son of a Teyrn and was trained both politically and militarily to prepare himself for a life of politics and court. She was the daughter of a farmer, who strived to be a commander in the Gwaren army. Their paths led them to different destinations, but that would never stop them from being friends. Nothing could.

However, their paths now seemed to be moving apart further than ever, now that he had completed his apprenticeship. He would return to his home in Highever. She would be fighting darkspawn.

"Marcus?"

He blinked. "Yes?"

"We're heading out," Cauthrien paused, "Unless you wish to wait for the next wave of hurlocks?"

"I'm coming," he looked around, to see the bodies of the men who had followed him into battle, and who were ultimately killed. The corpses were being collected, carried, before carefully being placed into a nearby wagon. So far there were two rows of the bodies, piled four high.

Marcus sighed, approaching the wagon. His nose was immediately hit with the wafting scent of death mixed in with the already foul odor of darkspawn. He looked down into the wagon at the countless faces of fallen soldiers. These were men who had trusted in his leadership, and he had failed them. His hands came to rest on the railings of the wagon, gripping it tightly, as he tried to remember every face of the men he had failed, he owed them that much at-least. All the while, in the back of his mind, he wondered how long would their families be waiting for their return or correspondences. How long until they came to the realization that their husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers wouldn't be returning home…

Marcus bowed his head. "May you find peace in the company of the Maker." He turned to see Cauthrien was watching him closely. He could see the concern shimmering in her storm cloud eyes.

"Amen," she added softly. She reached out and gently grabbed his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before letting go.

Marcus thanked her for her gesture with a smile. No words were needed to be exchanged between the friends, as they began their march back to camp. While he walked, Marcus reflected on Loghain's advice.

_"Your skill as a soldier and leader is not in who or how many you lose, but how you react to the travesty. Will you grieve or will you vow to do better?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Rising Sun**

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Two**

**Location: Denerim, Ferelden**

Marcus Cousland loved the capital city of Ferelden. He's visited the city many times in his life. Yet, as he entered the city's marketplace on this afternoon, he wasn't sure if he'd ever been happier visiting the city then he was at this time. It had taken him more than a week to reach the capital, coming from the south where he had participated in what he hoped to be his last ever battle.

After Southron Hills, he was granted his release and was allowed to return home to his family. His home was Highever, but his family was residing in their Denerim estate. At Southron Hills, he feared that he'd never make it home. Now, that he did survive the battle, and had returned he was looking forward to seeing his family and enjoying a little peace and relaxation.

As much as he loved Highever, his home, he couldn't deny the appeal of Denerim. The capital of Ferelden offered a politically charged atmosphere that was unmatched anywhere else in the country. There were the foreign dignitaries, who came from all over Thedas representing the best interests of their respected country. They came to Denerim with their own tastes, their own customs, and their desire to bring a little bit of their home to Ferelden's capital. This led to foreign merchants from Orlais, Nevarra, and Antiva all of whom hocking the wares that had helped make their respected countries famous.

Many throughout Thedas turned their noise up on Ferelden as nothing more than a backwater country. They looked down on Fereldans, seeing them as simple common folk who had a certain obsession for their mabari hounds. Yet, even these people held a certain reverence to this city. To the faithful followers of the Chant, this was the birthplace of the Bride of the Maker—Andraste. Many have come to this city on pilgrimage, paying their respects and offering tribute to her and the first Exalted March which she started in Ferelden that helped lead to the downfall of the Tevinter Imperium.

Marcus Cousland enjoyed the capital even more when he got older especially after his brother took him to the Pearl for his fifteenth birthday. He remembered only bits of that night, and the bits he did remember were hazy, but that night awoke in him a growing hunger for the fairer sex. It also alerted him to the dangers of too much consumption. He never thought he could get so sick after that many pints, nor had he expected his sickness to last that long. He still flinched when he remembered the heavy vomiting and the painful headaches that ensued in the days following his birthday celebration.

He still remembered his brother's greeting the next morning after the Pearl, Fergus had told him he resembled the walking dead, before laughing and clapping Marcus on the back and saying, _'Wait until next year, brother!'_

The thought of the Pearl enticed Marcus, causing him to wonder if he'd have some time to go to the brothel during his stay in Denerim. He would go tonight, but this evening marked the end of his apprenticeship to Loghain. The Teyrn of Gwaren would present Marcus with a ceremonial weapon or piece of armor to commemorate his service. The ceremony also served as a good method to further strengthening the relationship between the last two remaining Teyrns of Ferelden—Gwaren and Highever.

Even if Marcus was relieved that his service to the Teyrn was done; he couldn't deny how much he had learned from Loghain. It was during his apprenticeship that he also realized that his true strength didn't lie in combat, but at court. He had no desire to return to the battlefield. Marcus was humble enough to admit that his skill with the sword and shield was marginal. He understood that if he tried the life of a soldier, it would probably be short lived. He also didn't want the burden and responsibility of having so many lives depending on him during the chaos of battle. Not after Southron Hills, it was too much for the young Cousland to bear. No, he was happy with the politics at court. He could find his sense of adventure or battle by going to the library and reading about them in any number of good books.

Marcus looked to see several kids approaching him and his war-hound, Padfoot.

"Puppy," said one boy, clapping his hands together. Padfoot barked in response, his stubby tail wagging. The sudden barking from the mabari had the small boy jump back in surprise, giggling when he fell onto the ground.

"Come on, Padfoot," Marcus said, grabbing his hound by the collar, Padfoot was resisting, whining in protest, as he tried to reach the kids. "You don't want to keep Oren waiting, do you?"

At the mention of Marcus' nephew, his hound stopped resisting. Marcus loosened his grip on his hound's collar, unable to stop himself from smiling, since he knew that his mabari was very fond of his young nephew. "Good boy," patting his hound's head. "Come on, let's get going."

* * *

><p>The Highever estate was one of the more luxurious estates in the city. It was renovated during the Orlesian occupation. Bryce and Eleanor decided to keep many of the changes, including the beautiful rose garden. Over the years his parents had added more exotic flowers from across Thedas. Many of which were gifts from foreign dignitaries knowing that the Teyrna was fond of fauna.<p>

Marcus Cousland stepped into the complex, breathing in the sights and sounds that began to stir up many memories for the young lord. He'd forgotten just how much he loved and missed this place over the last two years of his apprenticeship, where he spent his time in Gwaren. He had only taken a few steps onto the estate's grounds before he was promptly tackled to the ground; kicking up dust as the back his head hit the ground. He coughed in protest, feeling a large weight pressing into his chest. At first, he thought it was Padfoot sitting on him, but the voice that accompanied the presence confirmed to him who it was.

"Uncle!"

The culprit was his young nephew-Oren. Marcus raised his head to see the seven year old was smiling ear-to-ear his messy brown hair just falling short of his brown eyes that were shimmering with joy and excitement.

"You're back!" he grinned.

Marcus coughed, as his nephew adjusted his sitting position on his armored chest-plate, "yes, Oren. I'm back."

"For good right, Uncle?"

He smiled; despite the pain he was beginning to feel in his torso at his armor digging into his flesh, "For good."

"For serious?"

"Yes, Oren, for serious," he coughed again, but if his nephew understood that he was in pain or discomfort, the young heir of Highever didn't show it. Oren's attention was diverted to the barking Padfoot who was bounding around his fallen master, sending Oren into a fit of giggles.

"Padfoot!" he squealed.

The hound, not liking being ignored let out another happy bark before jumping over to the young heir, slobbering the front of his tunic and face in wet kisses, causing Oren to laugh, who then tried to wrap his small arms around the hound's massive neck.

"You comfortable, Oren?" Marcus wheezed, interrupting the reunion between his nephew and hound. The former was still sitting on his chest, causing Marcus' armor to painfully imprint itself into his flesh.

Oren looked to have realized his mistake, "sorry," he apologized, pushing himself off of Marcus, but to do it, it required the young boy to put more weight and pressure on Marcus, causing him to grunt in protest before his nephew was able to get up.

Marcus lowered his head onto the ground, letting out a sigh of relief, thankful and pleased that his nephew had finally gotten up. He could see Padfoot had immediately bounded on top of Oren, and was now relentlessly slobbering the boy's face and hair, a giggling and red-faced Oren tried to push the large hound off, but between the mabari's weight and Oren's strength, Padfoot didn't budge.

Closing his eyes, Marcus simply enjoyed the sound of his nephew's laughter and his hound's barking; he smiled. _Yes, it was very good to be back._

"Some warrior you are, brother."

Opening his eyes to the sound of the very familiar voice, Marcus could see his brother approaching them. He propped himself up by his elbows, noticing a smile on Fergus' face as he stopped when he reached Marcus' feet to stand over him.

"Are you going to help me up?"

"I suppose I should," Fergus replied, offering his hand. Marcus smiling in triumph clasped his brother's hand tightly and with one quick tug was able to pull Fergus onto the ground, his older brother landing beside him with an unceremonious grunt.

Padfoot leaped off of Oren, and jumped onto Fergus to greet him, before he had a chance to push himself off of the ground."Umpfh!" Fergus grunted, trying to push the heavy hound off of him, but it was useless. Padfoot, whose large paws were resting on Fergus' shoulders, lowered his head tentatively, sniffing Fergus' face.

"Don't you do it, Padf-" the rest of Fergus' warning was cut off as Padfoot began licking his face.

Marcus couldn't help but laugh, watching his older brother trying to wrestle his hound off of him. Oren too, who was sitting beside his uncle was giggling at his father being slobbered on by Padfoot.

"Pad-" Fergus's protest was cut short as he began coughing. "Not in the mouth!" With a gag, a grunt, and finally a shove, Fergus was able to push Padfoot off him, the hound quickly returned to Marcus, sitting on his haunches, his tail wagging profusely, the war-hound let out a happy bark. It was clear to Marcus that he wasn't the only one who enjoyed coming back home.

Fergus, who was on his knees, was practically gagging, "that was disgusting!"

Marcus, who was hugging his sides from laughing so hard, and was unable to stop himself from chuckling when he responded to his brother. "I don't know, brother. I found it very amusing." He then turned to his red-faced nephew. "What about you, Oren?"

Oren, who was still giggling, bobbed his head up and down in agreement.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, gently patting Padfoot's head, who remained sitting beside him. "Don't worry, Fergus, I won't tell Oriana."

"You won't tell Oriana, what?" asked a new voice cutting into the Cousland boys banter. All three turned to see the future Teyrna of Highever, approach them. Her dark hair was put in braids, and her brown eyes were surveying them closely.

Oren quickly went over to his mother. "Look mum, uncle's here!"

Oriana smiled, "I see that, Oren." She waited until Marcus was able to get off the ground, before engulfing him into a hug. "It's good to see you, brother," she murmured into his shoulder.

Marcus returned her hug with equal emotion. He had grown to love Oriana. He honestly and embarrassingly at first was angry with Oriana when she and Fergus married. He saw his best friend and older brother being taken from him by someone else. It had been his father's encouragement that broke through Marcus' own selfishness. He reminded his youngest son that he hadn't lost Fergus with this marriage, but had instead gained a sister.

She pulled away, but kept her hands on his shoulders, while her eyes examined him, as if looking for any signs of bodily harm. "No worse for the wear, it seems."

He smiled, before giving her a shrug. It earned him another hug. "Your father and mother have been up since sunrise."

"Don't tell him that," protested a mirthful Fergus, coming up alongside his wife. "We don't need his head swelling any bigger." He wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder pulling her closer.

She scrunched her nose in disgust, "Eww, Fergus you smell."

Fergus' smile fell. "You have the hound to thank for that."

Padfoot tilted his head to the side, his beetle black eyes on Fergus before letting out a very pitiful sounding whine.

"That's not going to work," Fergus said, trying to sound stern, wagging his finger at the hound, which only caused Padfoot to whine further.

Fergus' resolve crumbled, "Oh, alright, I missed you," he admitted, crouching down to pet the mabari behind the ears. "You're still better company than my brother." He stood back up. "You smell better too!"

"Fergus," Oriana warned.

"What?" Fergus laughed, "I was only half-joking." He stepped towards Marcus, elbowing him in the stomach, "only half joking, little brother."

"Hah-hah, Fergus," Marcus replied, looking at his older brother.

It was clear to any, who saw them together, that they were brothers. Fergus was taller, and did have broader shoulders than Marcus, but both men were quite fit, their bodies honed by years of physical training and dieting. Both Cousland brothers had dark hair, Fergus' was messier and shorter, while at the moment, Marcus' was longer and was keeping his combed back. Fergus had taken their father's brown eyes, while Marcus had taken their mother's blue eyes.

"It's good to see you, brother," Fergus admitted, pulling Marcus into a hug.

Marcus considered his brother to be his best friend. Fergus had been getting him in and out of trouble since he could walk. There was no one Marcus respected more besides his father and mother than he did Fergus. To Marcus, he saw his brother as the shining example of what a good leader should be. Traits that he knew, he himself didn't possess.

"So did you bring back any darkspawn heads?" Fergus asked, mischievously, when the brothers pulled away from their hug.

Marcus chuckled, before making a show of holding out his hands to show that he didn't come with gifts. "Sorry, brother, empty handed." Marcus felt a tug on his hand. He looked down to see it was Oren who was looking up at him.

"Did you bring me anything, uncle?"

"What?" Marcus asked, with mock outrage. "Is my presence not enough?"

Oren giggled, "for serious, uncle!"

"Oren," Oriana stepping in, "Marcus went off to fight in battle. He didn't attend some festival."

The young boy's shoulder slumped, looking crestfallen, lowering his head.

Marcus rustled the boy's hair, earning his nephew's protest. "Hey, uncle!"

"What?" asked Marcus, trying to look down at his nephew with his best innocent expression. He then tousled his nephew's hair again.

"Uncle!"

"Boys," murmured Oriana, shaking her head in feigned exasperation. She then put her hands on her hips, sliding into the role of mother hen. "You two need to go see your parents. They'll be waiting for you."

"Yes, mum," chorused Marcus and Fergus, exchanging grins, Fergus clapped his brother on the shoulder, leading him to the entrance of the estate with Oriana, Oren, and Padfoot in tow.

"It's good to have you back, brother."

"It's good to be back."

* * *

><p>Marcus found his parents in the study.<p>

It was a large room its walls lined with shelves that were stacked with books. It had large open windows that allowed plenty of sunlight, and provided an excellent view of the estate's gardens. Two desks faced the separate windows. Both oak furnished desks that were gifts from Orlais. The two desks were covered with vellum and multiple books, proving that a Teyrn's work was never done. A crackling fire came from the large stone fireplace, which above was a mantle of Cousland artifacts including the sword and shield that Bryce used in the Rebellion. Eleanor's bow was also mounted on the wall. Above the weapons was a family portrait that had been commissioned before Marcus left for Gwaren.

It was the only picture that contained all of the Couslands. Bryce stood behind his sitting wife, with Oriana sat next to her and holding a younger Oren. Fergus stood behind his wife. Both Cousland males had a hand on their wives' shoulder. Marcus stood on his father's other side and had Padfoot sitting in front of him.

Eleanor Cousland was sitting behind her desk, looking over multiple vellums, while Bryce was sitting in one of the two lounge chairs in front of the fireplace.

"Mother, father," Marcus said softly, his voice breaking the silence that had enveloped the study.

Eleanor looked up from her vellum, a tired look on her face that showed how long she had been looking over proposals and records. However, when her blue eyes met his blue eyes, her face lit up into a bright smile.

"My boy!" she quickly made her way around the desk, bringing him into a gentle but firm hug. "I was worried sick about you, fighting those monsters."

Marcus gently rubbed his mother's back. He had always cherished his mother's hugs. They always had the strength to comfort him when he was sad, to soothe him when he was upset, and to reaffirm her love for him. "I'm fine, mother."

She pulled away, tears swelling behind her blue eyes. "Thank the Maker."

Marcus smiled, when she kissed his brow.

"Pup," greeted a smiling Bryce who traded places with his wife, so that he could give his son a welcome home hug. "You have made quite the impression, Pup." Bryce patted him on the back. "King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain have spoken so very highly of you."

"Surely they exaggerate," Marcus said sheepishly. He detected the pride in his father's voice, but he didn't think he was deserving of it. How had he earned his father's pride when he led those soldiers to die? How had he earned the King and Teyrn's praise when it was under his orders that those men who trusted him with their lives were killed? He inwardly sighed, pushing down the painful memories of Southron Hills that were threatening to bubble up. He didn't want to think about the battle, not now that he was home and with his family.

Padfoot barked, making his presence known in the study.

Bryce laughed, calling the hound over to him. Padfoot happily obeyed and was rewarded with a good head scratching. "Yes, we are happy to see you too."

Eleanor crouched down before kissing Padfoot on the head. "Thank you for looking after him."

Padfoot replied with a single lick to her cheek, she smiled and petted him on the head once more before standing up.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks," it was his mother who answered. "We thought we'd keep the queen company."

"Nelaros came up this afternoon," Bryce observed.

"Nelaros?" repeated Marcus.

"Yes, he is getting married to an elf here in Denerim."

Marcus whistled. He and the elf had become friends before Marcus went on his apprenticeship. It was when he was overseeing the Highever Alienage in an attempt to better improve it. The two struck up a quick friendship and have been friends ever since. Marcus remembered writing a congratulations letter to his friend about the pending marriage. Yet, that felt like so many months ago, it seemed unreal for Marcus that the marriage was already here.

"Yes, speaking of marriages."

Marcus groaned at his mother's observation. This brought laughter to everyone in the room except for mother and son. His mother had been trying to match him up with a wife for years. It was the family joke. He understood that by all accounts he was supposed to be an appealing catch. His heritage placed him on the top of many lists of Banns, Arls, merchants, and foreign dignitaries who believed that a marriage with the Couslands could further strengthen their standing in the country. They weren't wrong. His family was one of the most if not the most respected family in Ferelden outside the royal family-The Theirins.

"Now Marcus, we've talked about this," she began. "It's time for you to settle down, like Fergus."

His said brother dramatically puffed out his chest, "Yeah, Marcus, like me."

"Fergus," chided Oriana with a playful swat to his head.

"On second thought, you should enjoy your freedom while you can."

This earned Fergus another, but harder slap from his wife.

"OW! I was joking!"

"Dear," Bryce said, entering the conversation, he put a comforting arm around his wife. "He has only just returned to us and from battle nonetheless."

Marcus was thankful for his father's interruption. This really wasn't a conversation or topic that he wanted to discuss at this moment.

"Bryce, we agreed that after his apprenticeship, that it was time for him to get married," Eleanor protested, his mother wasn't going to let this topic go.

"Yes, an agreement our son will commit to," Bryce soothed turning to Marcus, "Isn't that right, son?"

Marcus bit back a sigh. "Yes, of course." He didn't add that he was still hopeful that it would still be a few years before his supposed wedding.

This seemed to mollify his mother. "I've been receiving offers from across the Bannorn, dear." She smiled to him, "even as far away as Nevarra and Antiva."

"Trying to get rid of me, mother?" deadpanned Marcus.

Eleanor's face softened, "of course not, Marcus." She put her hands on his shoulders. "I just want you to feel the same happiness I feel when I'm with your father." She gestured to his brother, "The same happiness that Oriana and Fergus share."

"Some days are better than others," Fergus chimed in. "OW!"

Marcus looked into his mother's eyes to see her sincerity; he found his resolve crumbling. "Very well, mother, I will start looking at these proposals by the end of the week."

Eleanor smiled, gently squeezing his shoulders before kissing his forehead. "You'll make a wonderful husband and father."

He smiled, feeling a sense of pride fill him at his mother's words. He found it difficult, if not downright impossible to stay annoyed at his mother and her attempts to get him married. Especially when he could see the sincerity in her eyes, he could hear the affection in her voice. He turned to the others in the room, and his smile only grew. He was home.

He was happy. He was back with his family. This was where he wanted to be. No battles, no darkspawn, just him with his family. This was the only life he wanted.

* * *

><p>The Highever estate was filled with festivity. Spirits were high amidst the Cousland family and the servants who worked within the estate and served the family. The youngest Cousland-Marcus had returned from his apprenticeship. There was to be a celebratory dinner being held in his honor, the servants were enthusiastic and eagerly preparing for the meal. These servants considered themselves blessed to be serving under the gracious and kind hearted nobles of Highever. Marcus was no exception to his family. The servants wanted to make sure his first night went off without a hitch.<p>

An elf stood alone in the beautiful spacious gardens of the Highever estate. He was not a worker for the family and yet they still gave him a room for the night, free of charge. It was such a simple but benevolent act that endeared elves to the Cousland family. But on this night, this young elf had more on his mind than the return of a human noble, even if he did consider this particular noble a friend.

Nelaros Andras was nervous this evening.

He looked out at a row of beautiful roses which were in full bloom. He was hopeful that the cool, crisp night could settle his churning stomach.

He was wrong.

He gently closed his slender fingers around the fragile and small ring that he cradled in his left hand. His legs wobbled beneath him, when his thoughts drifted to the task before him. It sounded simple enough; tomorrow he had to present this handcraft ring to his betrothed. Yet for all its supposed simplicity, he couldn't help but feel the growing sense of dread that was filling his stomach.

He gulped.

He had known about this wedding since he was fourteen years old. It was then that his parents brooked an agreement with Cyrion Tabris of Denerim. Nelaros was aware of what was expected of him. These arranged marriages were common amongst the city elves. As well as these marriages to different elves in different alienages, it helped strengthen communities. His stay in Denerim was to be brief. As per the agreement in the betrothal contract, his bride and her family would be traveling back with him to Highever, where he had made quite a career for himself as a smith.

"Nel?"

The nervous elf turned around, startled to see the very man who was responsible for the very celebration that was being prepared for inside. It was Marcus Cousland.

Nelaros immediately bowed his head, "Your Grace."

Marcus frowned. "Knock it off, Nel."

He was pleased to note that the young lord remained humble of his roots and still tried to strive to be more ordinary then his other noble counterparts. Nelaros remembered how uncomfortable it made Marcus to be addressed by his proper title, when he first met him, four years ago. Nelaros had always found the behavior odd and was curious with why Marcus seemed so uncomfortable with his birthright.

Marcus' frown tugged into a smile with his next words. "Are the rumors true, you finally getting married?"

Nelaros raised his head to meet the eyes of the young noble. "Yes, I'm getting married. It's tomorrow in fact."

"Little Nel all grown up," Marcus joked.

Nelaros rolled his eyes.

"Have you seen your bride-to-be yet?"

The elf shook his head. "No, not yet Your Grace."

"Figures, the only way you can get married is with someone from another city," joked Marcus. He stepped onto the path that Nelaros had been walking in between the roses from Orlais and Ferelden's own Andraste's Grace.

Nelaros chuckled. Pleased to note that the simple comment had a way of him forgetting about his upset stomach. "I thank you for the encouragement, Your Grace."

Marcus sighed, before he passed Nelaros to take a seat on a nicely furnished wooden bench at the cross section of the garden, "Enough with the formalities, Nel."

The elf thought Marcus' insistence at being treated an equal with an elf was admirable, if not a little foolish. Nelaros knew that they were not equals nor would they ever be. This was the sad fact of life for humans and elves. However, Nelaros knew Marcus well enough to know him to be genuine in his efforts. It was the young Cousland who made even greater strides then his parents to make the Highever Alienage head and shoulders over any other in all of Thedas.

"I'm sorry, Marcus," Nelaros spoke softly; upon realizing that he hadn't acknowledged the young noble's polite rebuke.

Marcus waved off his apology, stretching himself out on the bench. "There's no need to apologize, Nel, we're friends after-all."

It was difficult to describe, but Nelaros felt a sense of pride at Marcus calling him a friend. He considered the noble a friend, but the feeling was different when it was Marcus, and not him who said it. "You honor me." He wasn't sure if Marcus had heard him or not, since the young man made no effort to reply or comment on Nelaros' remark. He followed Marcus' stare to see that it seemed his attention had drifted on the stars that made up the night sky.

"Don't you have a feast to attend?" asked Nelaros politely, curious with why the young lord was outside in the gardens when every other person in the estate was preparing for a dinner that was being held in his honor.

Marcus returned his attention to Nelaros. "Trying to get rid of me?"

Nelaros was sputtering an apology, realizing that his question may have been rude to ask the young lord, but the mirthful twinkle in Marcus' blue eyes had Nelaros stop. "It is good to see you return to us, unharmed Marcus."

"Thanks, Nel," Marcus said, sincerely. "It's good to be amidst friends and family. I had forgotten just how wonderful it was to be back here." He paused, shifting his attention back to the stars in the sky. "I think I missed Nan's lectures and her finger wagging the most."

Nelaros chuckled, everyone who knew the Cousland family was aware of the family's cook-Nan, who served as caretaker to the Cousland boys when they were children.

"The friendly faces that greet you around the castle are especially nice."

"In comparison to what, the frowning faces that you received when you were in Gwaren?"

Marcus laughed. "They only seemed to frown when I approached," joking at his own expense. He then straightened himself up on the bench, "But it was nice to see Alva and Rik again."

Nelaros knew at once who the young noble was referring to. They were an elf couple who worked within the estate. They were an older couple, who have been working for the Cousland family since before Nelaros was born. Once more, Nelaros was struck with how fondly Marcus spoke of them, even in something so simple in knowing their names. It was a rare trait amongst human nobility. Being reminded with how different Marcus was emboldened Nelaros. He took a deep breath, trying to settle his stomach by reminding himself that Marcus called him a friend. He tried to drown out the voice that was telling him that this would strain their friendship if he appeared ungrateful to Marcus. He had already made his decision, speaking before he lost his nerve.

"Marcus, I was wondering if I could ask something of you?"

Marcus looked up, a mischievous smile blooming on his lips, "A night at the Pearl before your big day?"

Nelaros immediately held up his hands to squash that idea. "No, thank you, Marcus, one night with you and Fergus is enough to last a lifetime."

The young elf had never been to a brothel before the Cousland brothers had taken him. He wasn't inclined to go back. The sex was good, but after a few pints of ale, he woke up the next morning blindfolded and cuffed to a chair in the middle of the Denerim Market district! To say he was embarrassed was an understatement.

Marcus laughed. He seemed to be remembering the same image that Nelaros had just thought of when thinking about their tip to the Pearl.

Nelaros decided to speak quickly lest he lose his courage. "I was wondering if you would come to my wedding."

When Marcus didn't speak right away, he quickly added.

"I'll understand if you wouldn't want to, because it's in the Alienage-"

"I would be honored," Marcus cut in with a genuine smile. "Though can I ask why?"

Nelaros couldn't help but return his friend's infectious smile, even when to answer his question was to bring up a sensitive and difficult topic. "The Denerim Alienage is much different then Highever, my lord."

Marcus raised his eyebrows, looking unsure with what Nelaros was implying, but before he could ask what he meant, a loud bark traveled across the garden. A second later the doors of the kitchen servant entrance opened to show Padfoot trotting through the flickers of light that were coming from the candle lanterns which were placed throughout the garden. The mabari war-hound, tongue wagging bounded happily over to the pair of friends.

"Were you getting in the larder again, Padfoot?" Marcus greeted his beloved war-hound with a good head scratch.

Nelaros tentatively stepped forward towards the intimidating hound whose beetle black eyes were on him. The hound sniffed the air before barking happily at him. The elf took it as permission to approach and Nelaros did, patting the hound on the head. Padfoot then with another loud bark trotted away into the darkness of the estate grounds.

"So what time should I meet you?"

"Noon," answered Nelaros, pocketing the wedding ring in his breast pocket.

"Good, that gives me plenty of time to celebrate your upcoming marriage at the Pearl."

Nelaros could only shake his head at his friend's apparent enthusiasm for visiting a brothel.

"So I take it this wedding will be quite the celebration?"

"Hopefully," Nelaros quickly replied.

Marcus seemed to sense his nervousness. "Are you getting cold feet, Nel?"

"No…yes… I mean no… Ugh," Nelaros sputtered while shaking his head. Realizing how idiotic he was sounding, it didn't help when he looked up to see Marcus was smiling.

"I'm sure it's perfectly normal to feel nervous before a wedding," Marcus shrugged. "Though I wouldn't know, I'm not the one getting married."

Nelaros sighed. "Was that supposed to comfort me?"

"I don't know, did it?"

"No, Your Grace, it didn't."

"Well, look on the bright side," Marcus tried a new approach.

"Oh?"

"It's not like she can annul this betrothal contract. So you could vomit on her wedding dress and you two would still end up having to get married." Marcus laughed. "You can't scare her off, Nel!"

Nelaros groaned, bringing his slender fingers through his light hair. "Your Grace."

Marcus frowned. "That didn't help, did it?

"Thank you for trying, Your Grace," Nelaros politely replied, thankful when Padfoot emerged from the darkness and redrew Marcus's attention to his hound and away from Nelaros' pending nuptials.

"All done out here, Padfoot?"

The hound replied with an agreeable bark.

"Good, so I take it you're ready for some grub?"

Nelaros couldn't help but smile at how the hound's head tilted to his side.

Marcus crouched down to become eye level with his hound, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I heard Nan is making some bacon and sausage for a particular well behaved hound."

The hound licked its lips, giving a soft whine, Padfoot's head turned to the servants' entrance, before turning back to Marcus, nudging him in the knee with his head.

Marcus laughed. "Alright then, let's see you get fattened up tonight."

Padfoot let out a happy bark in agreement, trotting over to the entrance. Marcus was a bit slower, standing up to his full height, easily towering over Nelaros. He brushed the dirt off of his hands before turning to him. "Are you coming, Nel?"

Nelaros shook his head. "I think I'll stay out here for a bit longer."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Nelaros said after a moment. "I don't think I can eat tonight."

Marcus didn't look convinced but he didn't press Nelaros especially when Padfoot began barking in the distance. The hound sounded eager to begin his dinner. Marcus began walking over to the sound of his hungry war-hound, but he looked back showing his uncertainty in leaving Nelaros alone.

He was thankful for the young lord's sincerity, but he also didn't want to cause the guest of honor to be late to his own feast because of him."I'll be fine, Your Grace. I think I'm just going to try to get some rest."

"Good thinking, Nel!" Marcus called out in the darkness. "It's not like you'll be sleeping come tomorrow night!"

Nelaros' cheeks blushed at what his friend was implying. The elven smith could only pray that no one else heard that comment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rising Sun**

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Three**

**Location: Denerim, Ferelden**

Eleanor Cousland was smiling.

The Teyrna was on her way to her son's room. _Her son,_ she thought with fondness was the reason why she was smiling. Her precious son had finally returned home. It had been two years since she had last seen him until he returned to them earlier in the day. It had been difficult for her to allow her youngest son to go off on this two year apprenticeship away from home. It was her husband, Bryce who convinced her of the merit that this could have on their son. Not to mention, that he could still correspond with them in a relatively easy and quick manner since he would remain in Ferelden.

She remembered being surprised when Marcus first came to her and Bryce and broached the subject of a possible apprenticeship. Eleanor had no doubts that her son's motivation had been influenced by his friend, Nathaniel Howe, who had gone to the Free Marches to undertake his apprenticeship. He had left more than a year before Marcus undertook his and there were no still signs of his returning. She knew it was customary for young nobles to partake as squires, but she had never thought her youngest was interested in that sort of tradition. He was more the studious son, than the soldier son. Something that came as a relief to her, since she unsure if she could take the pain and suffering that would come with having to bury one of her children. The thought of having your son in battle would make the strongest mother wilt.

_No,_ she thought firmly, not allowing herself to slip down that particular dark and depressing path. She returned her attention back to the happiness she was feeling at being reunited with her son. She remembered her frustration from a few weeks ago when Bryce had told her that Marcus' apprenticeship was on an indefinite extension. That alone was enough for her to groan in frustration, but the news only got worse when her husband revealed to her that her youngest son would be venturing south to fight against the darkspawn. She shuddered at the thought of those vile monsters. Her fears and anxiety for her son had risen to new heights during that short span of time when he had gone south.

Now it was over. He was free. His apprenticeship was over. And he had returned to them.

She gingerly walked over to her son's room, noticing the door was open ajar. She looked inside to see her son was dressed in some of the finest clothes that Denerim could provide. Her chest swelled with pride while she silently took in his features. She was amazed by just how much more grown up he looked. Seeing him like this caused her to realize that both her sons were men now.

For the Teyrna it felt as if it was just yesterday that her two young boys had been caught playing the larder. They had used their wooden swords to stab and attack everything in sight, and by the time Nan had caught and stopped them, the two were covered in whine, flour, grease, and numerous other cooking ingredients. Nan had been furious. But, the image of her two precious sons being covered head to toe in such a mess was a priceless memory for the Teyrna.

Returning to the present, she studied his features, noticing the several striking similarities that her son had inherited from his father. Like Bryce, Marcus was tall and slender, but his arms had become more muscular, she attributed this to his apprenticeship. His hair was long and dark, just falling above his shoulders, at the moment he was keeping it combed back so that it wouldn't fall over his eyes. Looking at his hair closely, Eleanor was sure that her son hadn't gotten a trim since he left Highever for his apprenticeship two years prior. His growing beard only further confirmed her suspicions. She had never liked Bryce with a beard, remembering the one time he did have one, was during the Rebellion. Yet, for her son, the beard seemed to fit him just right.

The only superficial trait he clearly inherited from her was his eyes. It was her proudest feature. When she was a younger woman, she was blessed with beauty, a tone body, a nice figure, and shapely legs. She knew that in time her body would succumb to age, her hair would gray, and her skin wrinkle, but never her eyes. They would always remain blue. Her eyes would always show her strength, reflect her youth, and shimmer with love when she was with those whom she cherished.

Seeing his eyes reflect through the mirror that he was standing in front of, she nearly gasped upon seeing the haunting hollow look that shimmered beneath the surface of his eyes. She sadly recognized that look. She had seen that look on the numerous faces of the soldiers who survived through the Rebellion. More than once, she had come across that same expression on her own face, that same look of pain in her eyes during the more trying days of the war with Orlais and even in the aftermath in the months that followed Orlais' withdrawal from Ferelden.

She stepped into the room. "You look wonderful, darling."

He turned towards her, a smile coming to his lips.

She took that as a good sign. "You don't know how good it does me to see you."

He pressed his hands against his shirt, self-consciously. It was a quirk he had inherited from his father. Bryce often did that when he was feeling nervous or if he wanted to avoid something.

"It's good to be home."

Eleanor's heart reached out towards him. It pained her deeply to see so many conflicting emotions come to his youthful face. No mother wished for their child to endure such hardships then the ones he had to go through these past few weeks. "I know what you're feeling."

He titled his head. Keeping his face guarded while his eyes surveyed her closely. "You do?"

"Yes." She and Bryce barely spoke about the horrors and atrocities that they experienced during the Rebellion. The pain and suffering they endured; the bloodshed that they had witnessed. They wanted their children to know the struggles of how they got their independent, wanting them to appreciate the sacrifices that were made so that they wouldn't have to live in an occupied Ferelden. But they were always careful with what stories they told their children, having to edit portions of it because of the young audience they were telling it to. It was a difficult balancing act, but she believed that she and Bryce had done well by their sons.

"I remember in one battle, I was tasked with leading a regiment of archers." She sat down at the edge of her son's bed, smoothing out of her elegant dress as she did. She looked up to see Marcus remained where he stood, in front of the mirror. She gently patted the empty spot next to her and was pleased and thankful when he took the offered seat. This wasn't an easy story to tell, and she could use the emotional support of having her son close at-hand.

He didn't look at her; instead his gaze remained transfixed straight ahead at the wall. This didn't bother her, she gently grabbed one of his hands that had been resting on his lap and lightly patted it. "I was responsible of overseeing these archers. All of them were new recruits, who had been swept up in the zeal of rebellious fervor that King Maric, Queen Rowan, and Teyrn Loghain had fanned after the Battles of Gwaren and River Dane."

"After giving the archers some semblance of training, they were thrown into the fire of battle as the Orlesians were desperate to crush this Rebellion. My regiment of archers was tasked with providing cover to a legion of marching foot soldiers." She paused at trying to recall old memories that for so many years she had tried to keep buried and forget about.

"At first we were met with great success. We were picking apart dozens of the Usurper's men, proving the legion we were protecting ample amount of time and space to advance. However I was so preoccupied at taking out as many Orlesians as I could and our current success that I forgot about my most important task."

"What task was that?"

She looked up to see his blue eyes were on hers. She let out a deep breath; this was the most painful part. "I had forgotten to stay vigilant and alert for enemy retaliation. One of the enemy's legions had been able to flank us… They decimated us." Fresh images of the carnage of that battle seeped into her mind. She could remember the piercing screams. She could see the rivers of blood, the piles of body parts, watching in horror as her regiment was annihilated in a matter of seconds.

Feeling as if she was drowning once more in grief and darkness at the memories she tried to keep buried. It was a growing grip on her hand that allowed her to come back to the present. It was Marcus; he was gently squeezing her hand. Thankful, for his comfort; she brought up her other hand, to his face; brushing aside some of his loose hair that was threatening to cover his face. She tentatively patted his cheek. He responded to her motherly touch with a smile.

"We were only saved, because one of the other regiments had spotted the flanking and had come to our aid. They were able to give us the precious time needed to retreat. Out of the thirty men and women, I was tasked to lead, only three survived including myself."

"How did you cope?" he asked, timidly. He seemed unsure if he should broach the delicate topic.

Eleanor felt tears prickling. She blinked them back, comforted with her son's grip on her hand. "Not very well at first, I allowed my guilt to consume me, I became an emotional wreck. I barely ate, drank, or slept. Most nights I wished that I was with those who had perished. That way, I would no longer have to feel this incredible burden of pain."

"It was your father, who was finally able to reach me." At the time, they were not yet married; having agreed not to get married until they freed Ferelden from Orlais Occupation once and for all. Bryce had been the burning beacon that lit up the dark abyss she allowed herself to drown in. "He told me, that I couldn't allow this guilt to fester. That I couldn't succumb to depression. I had to refuse its allure."

She used the back of her hand to wipe away the loose tears that had slid down her cheeks. Remembering how impassioned Bryce was when he came to see her. Remembering how worried he was for her. How scared he was at losing her. And if she was honest with herself, he almost had lost her, but he saved her. She took another deep breath, ever thankful for the constant, gentle grip that her son had on her other hand.

"No matter how tempting or easy it was to yield to such grief, I couldn't give in. He told me that I needed to be strong. It wouldn't be easy, he said, but I had to endure. I had to remember the other side."

"The other side?"

"Yes, the reason why your father and I were fighting," she confirmed by squeezing his hand. She was hard pressed to think of two better reasons to fight then the images of her two sons. They fought for a new life, a life that they could share together. "I couldn't give into that grief, I couldn't forsake the life your father and I dreamed of having, I couldn't allow those sacrifices by our fellow Fereldans be in vain."

"Easier said than done," he replied bitterly.

"I never said it would be easy, did I?" replied Eleanor keenly.

He dropped his head. She knew at once he was ashamed at what he had said. She placed her fingers on his bearded chin to get his attention. He looked up at her, uncertainty etched in his expression.

"Nothing you do will ever make your father and I love you less," she reminded him, before leaning over to kiss the crown of his head. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do."

Seeing his expression brighten caused her to smile, upon realizing that she had reached her son. "Good, so no more moping." She said, lightheartedly wanting to inject a little good mood into the conversation after having to talk about some very serious subject matter. "We are after-all having a dinner in your honor."

"My honor?" he repeated, jovially. He brought his hands to his collar, playfully adjusting it.

She snorted in amusement. "There is a first time for everything, my son." She then gracefully pushed herself up from his bed. "Who knows the next time the opportunity will come?"

He dropped his hands from his collar, feigning a pout when their blue eyes met.

"Come now, Marcus, we cannot begin dinner if the guest of honor is not present."

"Yes, mother," he said in a feigned resigned voice, before pushing himself up off of the bed. He then extended his arm to her. "I'd be honored if I were to escort you down to the hall."

Eleanor smiled, looping her hand in his arm, before patting his cheek. "I would love that, darling."

* * *

><p>Ser Cauthrien stood in the elegant foyer of the Highever estate in Denerim. The farmer turned knight usually found herself uncomfortable when she visited nobles in their posh estates. This was not the case with the Couslands. She had known the family since she was a young girl. She remembered the times in her youth going to Highever, and Cousland castle with Anora. When Anora was being taught the methods of court politics and proper etiquette, Cauthrien ended up playing with Marcus and Nathaniel. The three of them always found themselves getting into all kinds of trouble. A restless Anora and a curious Fergus usually joined them. The two of them only added to the chaos and mischief. It always ended up the same, with them being caught and scolded by Nan, the chief cook of the Castle and the Cousland boys' sitter.<p>

She shook her head at those times of her youth, but was unable to shake the smile that formed on her lips. She looked around the foyer waiting for any sign of the servant who had greeted her moments ago. The servant had promised to fetch a member of the Cousland family. She couldn't help but frown as the absence of the Couslands was a reminder of her own tardiness this evening. She was supposed to have arrived before the dinner that was being held in her friend's honor. At the dinner, she would then present the box that she was currently holding to him, thus officially ending his apprenticeship with Gwaren.

She was late because she was tasked with sitting in on the meetings of strategy being held by the Teyrn and His Majesty as they tried to form the proper tactics in dealing with the darkspawn threat in the south. On this particular evening, she was pleased when she had finally been dismissed. Over the last few days, she was uncomfortably present for the recent arguing that took place between Loghain and Cailan. The two men had entirely different strategies in handling the darkspawn incursion in the south. Both men were being equally stubborn, neither refusing to give ground or accept the other's strategy.

This was why Loghain was unable to present the gift to Marcus. His attention and presence was needed at developing strategies in the fight against the darkspawn. So the responsibility fell on Cauthrien. She considered it a great honor to represent the Teyrn of Gwaren. She was even more pleased with the assignment having taken her to the Highever estate. She sighed, as there still seemed to be no sign of that servant returning with any member of the Cousland family in tow.

Cauthrien took the growing silence and awkward standing to inspect the clothes she chose to wear. It was a habit she fell into when she was not wearing her customary armor. She felt very uncomfortable going out without her armor. It had become a second skin to her these last few years. She pinched the rough fabric between her thumb and forefinger and made a noise in the back of her throat. She then brought her hand down the long sleeved cotton white tunic that she was wearing. It wasn't very 'lady' like. Neither were the loose fitting pants.

Nonetheless, she still had her greatsword strapped to her back. She rarely parted with it. Only taking it off when she slept or bathed. It was a habit that Marcus had always enjoyed teasing her about. He on the other-hand would take his sword and shield off at the first opportunity. During the first few weeks of his apprenticeship in Gwaren, he would routinely forget to bring his sword and shield with him on patrol. She smiled at the memories. She remembered how happy she had been when he first told her that he would be serving his apprenticeship under Loghain. It had come as a surprise to her, since Marcus had never been very inclined on pursuing a military career. She never saw her friend as a warrior. She was confident that neither did he.

He was a man of the court. He was better suited at handling politics and people then the sword and shield. He was quite good at it. These were skills, she had seen firsthand; having watched him on more than one occasion diffuse terse situations with words and not weapons. They'd often joke that they were the perfect compliments to each other. He was the charm, while she was the muscle. His charm came with his ability at being able to relate to others. This was something she had difficulty doing. She was aware that she often came across as brusque or impatient. These were traits she had inherited from being one of the few women in a field that was dominated by men. Many of whom resented her.

She gently brought her hand to her head. Thankful, that wasn't wearing gauntlets while she began to massage her temple.

"Ser Cauthrien, is that you?"

She dropped her hand at once, looking up to see Fergus Cousland, heir to the Highever Teyrnir approach her. She immediately bowed her head, "Your Grace."

Fergus waved off the political protocol with another charming smile. "Are you still a better sword fighter then Marcus?"

"Always," she smiled, though it didn't mean much, since they both knew that Marcus was no warrior.

Fergus held out his hand and she shook it. "I'm glad to hear that you're still able to humble my brother."

"He fought well against the darkspawn," noted Cauthrien respectably.

"I know, that's all Oren wants to hear," said Fergus in a mirthful tone. "His bedtime stories feature his uncle: Marcus Cousland, the Slayer of all darkspawn!" Fergus added dramatic hand gestures of imitating sword moves to stress his point.

Cauthrien couldn't help, but shake her head, still smiling at Fergus' dramatics. "How old is Oren?"

"He will turn seven in the spring."

She could see the pride in his eyes. "He's growing up fast."

Fergus nodded, "yeah, I'm afraid I'll soon be sprouting gray hairs." He brought a hand through his hair to emphasize his point.

"You do not look a day older twenty five years," she reassured him while patting his arm.

"You should come over more."

"I'm here to give Marcus his sword." She gestured to the box she was holding.

"This will complete his apprenticeship?"

"Yes, His Grace would have, but he has been busy with His Majesty regarding plans for the darkspawn in the south," Cauthrien clarified.

Fergus was no longer showing any signs of mirth at the mention of the darkspawn. "Is what they're saying true? About this being a possible Blight?"

Cauthrien sighed. She had heard the arguments between the two sides. She also served as an audience to His Grace-Loghain on his thoughts on the Blight and the Grey Wardens. "The King believes it is, but not His Grace."

Fergus crossed his arms and frowned. "What do the Grey Wardens think?"

"They think it is too," Cauthrien answered, remembering what the Commander of the Grey Wardens had said in the meeting this morning.

"Shouldn't that be enough to convince Loghain?"

"He has his doubts on the Grey Wardens," answered Cauthrien honestly. She wasn't sure how much she was comfortable with divulging about Loghain and his reservations with the Order.

"I see," said Fergus, his expression turning stoic. He looked more like the man who would one day rule the largest Teyrnir in the country. "Let's hope that we can stop these darkspawn before the threat can gather steam."

"I couldn't agree more, Your Grace."

Fergus seemed to have decided that a change of topic was needed. "Can I offer you something to drink while I have someone search for my dear brother?"

"I wouldn't want to be a bother," dismissed Cauthrien.

He waved off her concerns as he offered her his arm. "I insist, Lt. Cauthrien."

"How can any lady decline such charm?" she asked sardonically.

He flashed another smile, before waggling his brows. The heir of Highever escorted the Gwaren knight to a side room that consisted of a few small tables, sofas, and plush chairs that encompassed a great stone fireplace. He led her to one of the plush leather chairs to sit down in.

"I'm sorry that I was unable to present the sword at the appropriate time."

Fergus waved off her apology, and soothed her apprehension with his response."Do not worry, Cauthrien, we received your message before dinner and understand how busy Gwaren has been these past few days."

Cauthrien relaxed in her seat, watching as Fergus instructed two servants who she never saw come in. When the servants bowed and left, they went in different directions. One went out the main exit while the other left through a servant's door. She guessed that one had been tasked to find Marcus while the other was responsible in fetching refreshments.

She propped up her arms on the arms of chair. "How is Lady Cousland?"

Fergus propped himself into the sofa across from her. The two were separated by a small but elegantly designed table with a glass top. The legs of the table were carved to resemble sitting hounds.

"She is very well." His eyes became more mischievous when he added. "She has bedtime duties tonight with Oren."

"How noble of her," Cauthrien said dryly, her lips tugging upwards.

Fergus chuckled, before shrugging. "If I have to tell one more story about my brave brother and the many darkspawn he killed…"

"If I didn't know, I would think you were jealous of your younger brother?" Cauthrien teased, arching one of her dark brows.

He let out a dramatic huff before bringing a finger to his lips. "Shush, the others might hear."

She couldn't help but laugh at his antics. It would have been a strange sound for those who did not truly know the supposedly surly knight. To most Cauthrien was the stoic warrior, always with a frown and an order. She was one to never smile or laugh. The truth was she did enjoy laughing and letting 'loose,' but it was always with her friends and those she cared for, such as her family or even the Couslands.

"Ahh, so this is where I find you, Fergus?" Oriana asked, stepping into the room.

Fergus immediately stood up to greet his wife, kissing her on both cheeks. "Yes, well I believed Ser Cauthrien needed a proper host."

Oriana took a step back, bringing a hand to her chin while examining him. "Is that so? So you are only neglecting your duties as a father to play host to a beautiful young woman?" Oriana shot Cauthrien a wink to show that she was only teasing.

He frowned. "When you put it in those words, I sound like the villain?"

Oriana gasped. "I would never."

Fergus brought an arm around his wife's waist. "Will you forgive me?"

"Only if you beg," she said, gently tapping his cheek before taking a seat on the sofa that Fergus had been sitting on. He took the seat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"Did Oren enjoy his stories?"

"Oh yes," answered Oriana. "He went right to bed after I retold the story of Marcus' adventures in the south."

"So the darkspawn slayer legend lives for another night!" proclaimed Fergus.

"I tried to tell him your exploits Fergus," began Oriana before adapting a more mischievous smile. "But that only took me a handful of minutes."

Cauthrien snorted in amusement unable to stop herself from laughing. She tried to cover it up as a cough, but a frown from Fergus sent her way saw through her ruse. She sent him a shrug and he smiled before shaking his head, realizing his wife had successfully outdone him.

A young servant stepped into the room, carrying a silver tray with glass goblets filled with wine. The servant handed a glass to each of them before curtseying to them and leaving through the servant's door she came through.

"I think congratulations are in order," Oriana said after taking a sip from her wine, her eyes looking over the brim of the goblet onto Cauthrien.

"There is no need."

"No need for what?"

All three heads turned as one to see Marcus Cousland step into the room. He flashed Cauthrien a smile, before taking a seat in the chair besides Cauthrien's.

"How nice of you to finally join us, brother."

"I'm here now."

"We were just congratulating, Cauthrien," Oriana began, but she didn't get to finish.

"You got the promotion?" He cut in with a wide smile.

Cauthrien was touched by his sincere enthusiasm at her promotion. "I did."

"That's great!" Marcus said enthusiastically. "We should celebrate! We should get some wine…" His sentence trailed off upon realizing that the others were already holding goblets filled with wine. He frowned. "Perhaps more wine?"

"I wouldn't protest that," Fergus agreed before draining the remainder of his goblet. He smacked his lips together when he finished, putting the goblet down on the ornate table in front of him.

"I didn't come for celebrations," Cauthrien said, feeling awkward with all of the attention suddenly shifting to her. She hoped she didn't sound too brusque, but she pressed forward regardless, remembering why she was here. "I came here to present this to you, Marcus." She ignored his frown, nearly thrusting the box into his chest.

Still frowning, Marcus looked from the gift now on his lap to her. "You will thank the General for me?"

"Yes."

He nodded his thanks before his attention shifted back to the box that was on his lap. He delicately opened it; his eyes widening before scooping up the ornate sword. Its hilt bore the Gwaren crest. "It is beautiful."

Fergus let out an appreciative whistle at the fine craftsmanship."Now that's a sword, little brother."

"It is a reminder of your service to Gwaren," Cauthrien stated, remembering the words Loghain told her. "Let it serve as a thank you from Gwaren."

"I shouldn't," he said, finally taking his eyes off of the ornate sword. "I was just a squire-"

"No, Loghain insists," she cut in, stopping his argument in midsentence. "I insist as well." She noticed the shy smile that graced his lips as his eyes lingered back down onto the blade. She took pride in his reaction. It strengthened her resolve to continue. "You have served the Teyrnir admirably these last two years." She then gently patted his hand which was on the hilt of the blade. "You deserve this, Marcus."

He looked back up at her. "Thanks, Cauthrien." He then gestured to the sword. "This means a lot."

"Good," she said as their eyes met and Cauthrien was sure the room's temperature had gone up a few degrees. "I should be going."

"I'll walk you out," Marcus said, tentatively putting the sword back into the box.

Cauthrien tried to wave him off. "No, I know the way."

"Oh good," Marcus said before standing up, "Because I don't."

She rolled her eyes. "I suppose if you are going to insist."

"I am."

She smiled, amused at his antics, while silently touched at his insistence in walking her out.

he then turned and bowed to Fergus and Oriana. "Thank you, for your hospitality."

"Any time, Cauthrien," Fergus said. "Especially if you have any more embarrassing stories about my brother you wish to share."

"Hey!" protested Marcus.

Cauthrien chuckled at the two brothers. She shook Fergus's hand and shared a brief hug with Oriana before Marcus escorted her out of the sitting room.

"How is Loghain?"

She sighed. "He is determined to prove to the King and the Grey Wardens that this is not a real Blight."

Marcus shook his head. "He sure is stubborn."

Cauthrien laughed. "That is putting it mildly."

Marcus flashed a smile but didn't comment further as the friends walked silently down the drafty stone corridor that led to the estate's foyer. It wasn't until they arrived back at the foyer that he spoke again.

"So you're going south?"

"I am," she answered. She glanced over at him to see he was looking a bit uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his dark hair.

"I should be going," she said, pulling on a loose string of fabric on her sleeve. "Early morning and all…"

He nodded; his attention was on his shoes. "Yeah, I know how that is."

She turned to go, but she felt his hands come to her shoulders, causing her to turn to face him, noticing his blue eyes were on her.

"You be careful."

"I will," she said, touched by the amount of sincerity that shimmered beneath his blue eyes. She had been afraid that after they cut off their physical relationship that he would discard her, and move onto another woman. He didn't. He never did. He remained her friend. He really was a true friend.

"Good," he said awkwardly. "So don't do anything stupid."

"I'll leave the stupid things to you."

He chuckled, "as you should." He then slowly pulled her into a hug. She stiffened at first. She was unused to the contact between them. He seemed to sense her discomfort since he was about to pull away but she immediately wrapped her arms around his back. She couldn't help but breathe in his clean scent. Images of the last time, he held her in her arms came to her mind. They had just made love for the last time. They had decided to stop seeing each other, knowing nothing good would come of it. She remembered she wanted to cry in his arms, but she didn't, she couldn't.

He gingerly pulled away from her. His face remained stoic and his eyes unreadable. She tried to search the blue depths of his eyes, but she found nothing. She was sure that he would find nothing in her eyes. They had always been very much alike in that regard.

She tried to say goodbye but she found her throat very dry all of a sudden. She settled for a crisp nod which she immediately regretted. She tried to recover by bowing her head. She then spun around and left without saying another word

* * *

><p>Marcus found himself standing outside of the Pearl. He needed a distraction tonight. It had been a few hours since he had said his goodbyes to Cauthrien. She was going off to war, and he was going off to court. He had to wait before everyone else went to sleep, before he was able to sneak off to the brothel. He didn't come totally unprepared. He patted his concealed sword which he kept hidden under his jacket. He walked in to the brothel to only have his senses immediately hit by the smell of cheap ale and perfume. It didn't serve as a deterrent to the young lord. He wouldn't allow it to. He was here for a reason. He needed to be with a woman. He hadn't taken a woman to bed since his last time with Cauthrien. That had been almost a year ago.<p>

It was time to change that.

He walked towards the small bar that was nestled in the corner of the brothel. He was the only one at the bar when he took a seat. His eyes lingered on the dozen or so tables that were placed between the bar and the door that led to the bedrooms where the Pearl's clients would go to partake in 'relaxing endeavors.' Two intimidating and well-armed men flanked the door. Their eyes had followed him as he entered, but they gave him a curt nod when their eyes met. The tables were all empty except for one that was partly immersed in shadows in the back corner of the room. A few men who concealed their faces through hoods played a game quietly as their conversing didn't surpass a whisper.

"What will it be?"

Marcus spun around in his stool to greet the burly, tan skinned bartender who had a rather bushy moustache that matched his short dark copper hair; "Just a water, please."

The bartender raised his brows in confusion.

He reached into his coin purse and pulled out a handful of coppers and put them on the counter.

The bartender realizing that he wasn't joking swept up two of the coppers off of the counter and went over to fulfill the drink order.

"Lord Cousland," greeted the dark haired foreign beauty who ran the Pearl.

Marcus couldn't help but smile at Sanga, bowing his head to her when she approached.

She brought her fingers to her chin as she looked him over. "It has been awhile since your last visit."

"I've been away in Gwaren."

The bartender returned with a filled goblet of water, Marcus nodded his thanks before sliding over the remaining coppers that the bartender hadn't picked up.

"Thank you, kind ser," he said, pocketing the remaining coppers before going back to his seat at the other end of the bar, where he had been cleaning mugs.

Sanga shook her head, gesturing to the goblet he was holding. "Some things do not change."

Marcus laughed before taking his first sip of water and was pleasantly surprised with how refreshing the drink was. He put the goblet down and could see a smile tugging on Sanga's red lips.

"You had an apprenticeship, no?"

"Yeah, that is right."

"We have many new girls since your last visit."

Marcus shook his head in amusement. He had always remembered Sanga as a shrewd businesswoman during his visits to the brothel before his apprenticeship. She was a woman who only saw profit and she was very good at making one.

"I just got here, Sanga."

"I'm only trying to make your stay more enjoyable."

"Uh-huh," Marcus said, taking another sip.

Sanga did not have time to defend her words as one of the burly men who had been stationed by the door approached her. The two spoke in hush whispers and when the conversation ended, she excused herself.

He enjoyed Sanga but was thankful for her disappearance. He knew that she would only persist until he took a girl there and now. Now that she was gone, he could thankfully drink in peace for a little bit. He was planning on spending some money tonight with good company but the night was young and he was in no rush. He finished his goblet before putting it down. He then signaled to the bartender for another one. He put the appropriate amount of coppers down for both the water and the tip. The goblet's brim was to his lips before he heard footsteps approaching.

He sighed as he put the goblet down, believing that Sanga had returned and was ready to continue her sales pitch on him for trying out one of the new girls. "Sanga, can I please have a few minutes."

"You can take your time, sweet thing."

Marcus perked up at once at the sound of a different female's voice. He spun around in his seat to find himself staring at a very beautiful woman.

She had tanned skin, with a loose white blouse that could barely contain her cleavage. He couldn't help but have his eyes linger down her hourglass figure to see that she didn't look to be wearing any pants as the tanned skin of her legs above her thighs showed. She was however wearing dark knee-high boots.

He slowly brought his eyes back up her body but not before his attention lingered once more on her ample chest.

"My eyes are up-here, sweet thing."

Marcus felt his cheeks reddened as he realized he had been openly staring at her bosom. He brought his attention back to her face. She had long, black hair that fell around her shoulders. She had expensive golden jewelry hanging from her ears and a golden necklace that covered her neck. His blue eyes met her golden brown ones. She winked at him before taking the seat next to him.

He could smell the ocean on her. It was a very intoxicating scent that stirred within him. The reaction caught him off-guard since he didn't like the ocean very much.

"What are you drinking?"

He noticed the slightest bit of an accent in her voice. If he were to guess her origins he would presume Rivain, due to her tanned skin and dark hair. He realized he was staring at her again, but she didn't look upset or bothered. She smiled as her mesmerizing golden brown eyes shimmered with amusement. He still sheepishly lowered his head, before grasping his goblet, "Water."

She perked a dark eyebrow at him. "No holding back?" She then gestured to the bartender who brought her over a pint of ale, which signaled that she was probably a regular here. She took a sip of her ale before turning back to him. "You must be new around here. I'm sure I would have remembered someone as handsome as you."

Marcus was caught off-guard at her forthright compliment. He had been attracted to her soon as his eyes fell upon her body. Who wouldn't be? But he had not been expecting her to be so forward. He found the trait attractive. It showed confidence. He liked confidence.

"No, I'm just passing through."

"I see," she said, her fingers tapping her goblet while he noticed her eyes never left his body. She seemed to be examining him the same way that he had been her when his eyes first fell on her.

"We should make it a memorable pass through then."

Marcus smiled at her choice of words. He definitely liked this one. He wondered if she was one of the new girls whom Sanga had been advertising. He turned in his chair to face her. "Yeah, what do you have in mind?"

She smiled, but instead of answering, she gently grabbed his free hand that had been resting on the counter. "Hmm, such strong hands, I could use these strong hands at my…helm." Her thumb and forefinger began gently massaging the top of his hand, grazing over his knuckles.

Marcus nearly fumbled his goblet, at the burst of pleasure that surged from his hand, going up his arm before resonating within his chest, where it then slowly spread throughout his body.

"Could I entice you to come aboard with me?"

"Come aboard?" repeated Marcus in a croaked tone. He was finding it more and more difficult to think coherently as her rough fingers continued to work their magic on his hand.

"Oh yes, you can join my crew," she purred.

"I don't know anything about sailing," he answered lamely. He hated the water and had gotten incredibly seasick the few times he did actually sail on the seas. However, his brain was fervently telling him not to bring that up in her company.

"Oh the sea will teach you," she continued in a sultry voice, which caused Marcus to sit up straighter in his seat. "The ship is the best teacher. She will guide you with her sighs... her shudders, her gentle swaying as she rides the crests of the waves."

"That is tempting," he replied, clearly picking up on her double meaning. Her very intimate double meaning only seemed to further push him near the edge. A growing part of him wanted to give into his desire and have her right here on the counter.

"You have no idea." She then placed the tip of his fingers in her mouth and slowly began to massage them with her tongue. He nearly spilled his water in his lap at the sudden but arousing move. His free hand went to grip the countertop while trying to reign in his self-control that he could feel beginning to crack.

"Oh Maker," he breathed, sucking in a breath. He had forgotten just how intoxicating and amazing it was to feel a woman's touch against him. His body was aching for contact. His passions were beginning to over-ride his senses. He needed her. He had to have her. And soon.

Her tongue began caressing his thumb. Her eyes remained on him, lust shimmering behind those intoxicating golden brown eyes. "You haven't experienced anything yet."

"I bet," he croaked, finding it more and more difficult to control a certain part of his body.

She slowly removed her mouth from around his fingers, but not before placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his thumb. "I'm Captain Isabela of the Siren's Call."

"Marcus Cousland," he said, finding some of his senses coming back to him after she released his fingers from her mouth.

She perked her dark brows at the mention of his name. "Of Highever?"

"Yes."

"You know my appointment had to cancel. So I'm free all night."

"Their loss," Marcus said, silently sending a prayer of thanks to the Maker for whomever Isabela was supposed to see at the Pearl tonight.

"Is your gain?"

He nodded, "among other things."

She brought her hand to his cheeks and smiled when her fingers grazed over his beard. Her touch was magical; a trail of warmth followed her fingers. She abruptly removed her hand and stood up. He noticed the slight tremble in her hands and the glint in her eyes. It seemed that her desires too were threatening to spill over.

"Good, then let's stop with the talking and get down to more important things."

Marcus couldn't agree more as he drained his cup, before putting it down, "Where to?"

"My ship is docked at the harbor." She gestured to the door.

He could feel the smile on his face widening. "We do have a long night ahead of us."

"That we do," agreed Isabela, pressing herself against him. He looked down and was given a breathtaking view of her bosom. He noticed that her ample breasts were threatening to burst through her corset. Her lips then suddenly captured his in a searing kiss. He nearly staggered back at the ferocity of her kiss since she practically pounced on him. She then dragged her hand through his long black hair, as she deepened the kiss.

Marcus wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, pulling her even closer to him so that their two bodies were tightly pressed up against one another. She replied with a moan into his mouth while his hands began to run up and down her back before resting on her rather shapely backside, which he gave a firm squeeze. The two only broke apart because of the sudden need to breathe.

She stood on her tiptoes, bringing her lips to his ear. "Since this is my ship. We will be following my rules." She lightly nipped his ear.

Marcus shivered in anticipation. He responded by grabbing her backside and lifting her off the ground, eliciting a giggle and a moan of pleasure from the ship captain. She wrapped her legs around his waist, before trailing kisses down his neck.

"Oh this is definitely going to be fun," she purred in his ear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rising Sun**

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Four**

**Location: Denerim, Ferelden**

The first sounds Marcus registered were the lapping of waves against the side of Isabela's ship. He could feel the ship gently rocking beneath him; _The Siren's Call_ was still docked in Denerim's harbor. Then came the sound of seagulls, their distant squawking causing him to further bury his head deeper into the pillow. He also heard the sound of muffled voices and footsteps, on the deck above, belonging to the men who made up Isabela's crew. The blinding sunlight was coming through a pair of windows over the headboard; Marcus remembered the curtains having fallen off at some point during the night.

He slowly raised his head off of the feather pillow to see a half-naked Isabela lying beside him. Remembering how much fun he and Isabela had had throughout the night, as well as how little sleep they had gotten. He smiled, looking down at the beautiful pirate queen. It was easy to marvel at her beauty:

Her dusky colored skin, her black hair pooled around her face, her mesmerizing golden brown eyes that were now closed, her hourglass figure, her charming smile and confident personality among the reasons that Marcus found himself in her cabin.

She stretched and stirred; as she did the blankets that were draped over her dusky skin fell off of the bed to reveal her in all her glory. Marcus couldn't help but drink in the sight of the beautiful woman sprawled out beside him.

She opened her eyes, a smile coming to her lips when their eyes met. "Like what you see?"

He nodded, before returning her smile. He then rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He tried to push himself out of bed, but her firm hands were on him.

"Tired of rutting?" Her tone was playful.

"Sore is more appropriate," corrected Marcus, proving his point by cracking a crank in his neck from the awkward position he slept in. His joints too were stiff and his muscles a bit tight, but he wasn't complaining.

In response, she pressed her lips to the flesh over his spine. He immediately arched his back at the sensual touch. He should be going, but as he thought of leaving, he made no move to try to pry Isabela off of him. His thoughts of leaving disappeared completely, when he felt Isabela pressing her chest against his back. The feeling of her breasts against him was beginning to cause a certain body part to wake from its stupor. She slowly made her way up his body, in an agonizing slow, seductive pace as her lips would gently press against certain sensitive points of skin along his shoulders and neck.

He groaned in anticipation. His hands gripped the sheets tightly in a feeble attempt to try to keep his senses under control. She definitely knew the pleasure points of the human body.

Her warm breath came against his ear before she purred, "Captain's orders."

Marcus suddenly flipped himself; falling on her back with him on top but his momentum nearly caused the pair to fall off of the bed. Her eyes shimmering and a confident smile in place, she raised a dark eyebrow questioningly. He wrapped his arms around her hips, before lowering his head, gently kissing the nape of her neck before murmuring. "Well if you insist."

She moaned at the contact, her hands gently going up and down his chest. "I do."

* * *

><p>Nelaros groaned. The already nervous elf was pacing outside the gates of the Denerim Alienage. He looked out at the market district for any sign of Marcus.<p>

There was none. He sighed.

The elven smith was still very nervous about his coming nuptials, even though he had just met his bride-to-be an hour ago. She was beautiful, with her long red hair and expressive green eyes. He had vowed that he would spend the rest of his life to earn her love and respect. As soon as the cliché words left his mouth, he had inwardly groaned, afraid of how foolish he had sounded.

However, he took comfort in the shimmer in her eyes and the smile on her lips.

_Maybe being married won't be so bad? _He thought after their first encounter. He tried to remind his stomach that, but it seemed to have other ideas as it continued to churn his breakfast. Not allowing the nervousness to leave the young elf. He remembered Marcus' joke from last night about vomiting on the bride. He hadn't found it funny yesterday. And today he feared it might actually come true!

He groaned, running his long slender fingers over his face.

"Nelaros, there you are!"

He turned to see the other Highever elf that was getting married today. Her name was Vallora. She had mousy brown hair and a plain face, but was a sweet and gentle young lady.

"I'm just waiting," he said lamely.

She arched a brow at him. "Waiting? Waiting for what?" She then went to stand beside him. "Your bride is in the Alienage."

"I know," he said softly, his eyes still lingering on the Market district; a part of him hoping that Marcus would materialize right there.

"Are you afraid she's going to try to make a run for it?" asked Vallora with a mischievous smile.

Nelaros shook his head. "No," he said then he silently began contemplating the likeliness of that happening… His stomach gave a violent lurch.

"I'm waiting for a friend."

"A friend?" she asked curiously. "Do you mean a human?"

"Yes," he answered, recognizing the disbelief in her tone.

"Who?"

For a second, Nelaros considered not answering. "Marcus Cousland."

Vallora giggled, bringing her long fingers to her lips in an attempt to silence herself, but the giggling only continued.

Nelaros frowned.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am," he answered, offended at the question.

Her eyes widened, tilting her head to the side regarding him as if she had never seen him before in her life. "Do you really think the son of a Teyrn would come to the Alienage?" she then gently tapped his head, "To a wedding no less?"

"I do," Nelaros replied brusquely. Marcus had given his word and Nelaros knew he meant it. He had known the younger Cousland long enough to know that he would not flake on his word.

"I know he's a good man," began Vallora looking a bit more sympathetic to his plight. "But he's still just a shem."

"Don't call him that," Nelaros said firmly. He knew that's what his people called humans, but it was often used as a derogatory term to describe them. He considered it an insult to call the Couslands that, after everything they had done for his people in Highever.

She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. "What I mean is that he is in the capital of Ferelden. Why would he waste his time in the slums with our people?"

"He gave his word," Nelaros said stubbornly. Hoping beyond hope that Marcus would appear any second, apologizing profusely for his tardiness and making jokes about Nelaros' pending doom. The elven smith smiled at the possible scenario, but sadly it didn't come true.

She snorted. "Yes, because humans always mean their word when dealing with us."

Nelaros should have suspected her sarcasm or her doubt, even if she did come from the Highever Alienage. The history between the two people was mired in deceit, its records were written in blood.

"Nelaros? Vallora?" a third voice punctured the Highever elves conversation.

Nelaros turned around to see an attractive fair-haired elf waiting a few steps behind them. She looked hesitant in wanting to intrude on their private conversation.

"What is it Iona?" asked Vallora.

"The Chantry sister has arrived, and the elder is ready to begin the ceremony."

"Thank you Iona, we're on our way."

Nelaros didn't take his eyes off of the Market District. He stubbornly believed that his friend would arrive in time. He looked out once more at the Market District and sighed. He knew that Vallora was right. Marcus wasn't coming.

Vallora must have sensed his disappointment since she gently looped her arm in his, causing him to look at her, to see she was smiling. "Come on, Nelaros, it is time for us to get married!"

He smiled. Her cheery tone was infectious. He may be disappointed about Marcus, but he wasn't going to let it ruin his day. It was not every day you got to marry a beautiful elf such as Kallian.

* * *

><p>Marcus Cousland was late.<p>

His morning rut with Isabela went on a lot longer than he had planned. Not that he was complaining. He still couldn't wipe that stupid smirk off his face. The Pirate Queen was very creative and quite flexible. Her imagination was something to be admired, especially when she suggested bringing in a second girl to join them. That had nearly caused his brain to shut down.

However, the tired but happy Marcus Cousland was now running through the streets of Denerim. Aware of the time and his tardiness towards his friend's wedding. He nearly toppled over a few Chantry sisters as he tumbled into the bustling Market District. He shouted his apologies at the women but didn't stop for the lecture or the scolding.

His clothes had been thrown on in a rush when he realized what the hour was. He was aware that his shirt had been put on backwards. He only hoped others wouldn't notice. He could see the gates of the Alienage and sighed when he didn't see Nelaros. That was where they were supposed to meet. That could only mean that Marcus was really late.

_Please forgive me, Nel, _he silently prayed as he skidded to a halt at the entrance of the Alienage. He was immediately hit with a nasty smell, which caused his stomach to rumble in protest. He realized the smell was coming from within the Alienage. It was a mix of rotten food and waste. He tentatively stepped forward and was taken aback by how poorly put together the Alienage was. The houses were stacked upon one another, many of them looking unstable and some seemed to be leaning to the side. Many of the houses were in disrepair. It was a horrible sight for the young privileged human to behold.

These were slums, unfit for prisoners. He couldn't believe that the capital's Alienage could be so bad. He knew that the other Alienages around Ferelden were not as nice as Highever, but he had no idea just how bad they could be. This seemed to reach a scale unimaginable for the young Cousland. He couldn't think it was possible to surround people in such squalor conditions. He walked down a row of poorly built shacks with window panes missing and splinters of wood peeling off the walls.

He then had to carefully step around a stagnant pool of murky water, he then narrowly avoided a pile of feces before coming to the center of the Alienage. He craned his neck as his sight fell on the towering tree that was customary in all Alienages, the vhenedhal. It stood as a testament to its thriving existence as it was surrounded by waste and refuge. Its beauty unmatched by any man made attempt within the city. Its branches soared overhead like hands trying to reach out to the heavens. Marcus had always been fascinated by the vhenedhal. He had always loved visiting the behemoth tree when he was younger upon his visits to the Highever Alienage. He remembered the elven elder in Highever telling him that the vhenedhal served as a symbol of Arlathan, which if he remembered correctly was the first elven homeland.

Loud voices and shouting caused him to drag his eyes away from the tree and onto a large stage that was further in the Alienage. He quickly noticed the large gathering of people and assumed this was where the wedding was being held. His guess was proven correct when he spotted Nelaros on the stage, who was dressed in his finest set of clothes. Marcus was expecting his friend to be wearing a proud if not stupid smile, but he wasn't. If anything his friend looked concerned, or even angry.

Marcus didn't need long to realize why, spotting several human men step onto the stage. He frowned, growing suspicious that these men's intrusion was ill-willed. Approaching the stage, he could hear their voices.

"Grab a whore, isn't this a party?" bellowed, a deep, lustful voice.

One of the man's followers grabbed one of the elves on stage. She let out a shriek in protest, which only caused the men to guffaw.

Marcus quickened his steps to approach the stage. His anger bubbled up at how these men were acting and treating this community who only wished to celebrate unity and tradition through these arranged marriages. He shot a glance up at the stage to see an argument was brewing between the men and the elves. He gently pushed his way through the elven audience. He needed to put a stop to this. He was going to put a stop to this. He didn't pay attention to the muttering and murmuring of the elves who were protesting his sudden appearance. He was keeping his eyes on the apparent leader of this troupe of perverts. The man currently had his hands around a red haired elf that was struggling to break free from his grip.

Nelaros was staring daggers at the man. "You should leave!"

The leader laughed, "Or what?"

Marcus reached the steps and climbed them rapidly. "Or I'll make you."

His sudden appearance caught everyone on the stage off-guard. His presence was met with silence by the leader and his men, staring at him with slack jaws. It was obvious that they were not expecting another human in the Alienage.

The leader was the first to recover. He was a stout man with brown hair and a wicked glint in his brown eyes. He curled his lip as he examined Marcus like a piece of filth that he had just stepped in.

"Let her go," Marcus demanded.

The man only sneered. He gestured to himself with his free hand as he puffed out his chest. "Do you know who I am?"

Marcus unimpressed with the man, responded by a quick forward thrust of his leg. His kick landed right in the man's lower regions-hard. The man squealed, collapsing into a heap on his knees and arms, wheezing. The elven girl free of the man's grip immediately went over to Nelaros. She was shaking slightly as Nelaros put a comforting arm around her back.

"Do-you-know-me!" the man gasped incoherently.

Marcus realizing that the man still hadn't learned his lesson punched him. The man's head shot backwards, his head hitting the ground-hard as his body coiled to the ground, where he whimpered and stirred, bringing one of his hands to his face.

"That's the Arl of Denerim's son!" protested one of the men.

"Who in Andraste's ass are you?" demanded the other.

Marcus turned his ire on the leader's accomplices. He easily stood taller than the two men, noticing the fear in their eyes when he openly met their were not strong, fighting men. They were bullies, who exploited those weaker than them to make themselves feel better. He assumed the two men were lesser nobles if their attitude and clothes were anything to go by.

Marcus took a step towards them and they quickly took a step back, unaware of their surroundings, they both plummeted off of the platform and into a puddle of mud and waste.

He stood on the edge of the platform, a grin coming to his lips as he saw the two men squirming around in the mud like pigs. "I am Lord Cousland." His grin only grew at their reaction, as they momentarily forgotten about rolling in filth to look up with disbelief in their eyes and gaping expressions.

Marcus heard gasps from the elven audience. He slowly turned to see that they were staring at him with open astonishment. Several of them stepped forward to offer the young noble a bow or curtsey out of respect. He was humbled by their reaction especially with how the nobles before him had just treated them. He turned his attention to a trio of young elven boys, no older then thirteen. "Tie them up." He gestured to the two nobles who were still in the mud, sore and dirty.

The elven boys hesitated, looking up at him as if they misheard him.

"Now," his voice brooked no argument; immediately obeying the trio of boys got rope, tying the two men up.

Marcus nodded his approval when the task was done before he turned his attention back onto the elves on the platform. Three of them young women with two of them being dressed in nice dresses which made him assume these were the brides. One of the brides had her hand looped around Nelaros' arm. While the third elven woman was openly staring at Marcus, he could see the anger shimmering in her emerald eyes and her body language was plenty indication to tell the young noble that she wasn't fond of his presence.

Nelaros was joined by another young elf who was dressed in what appeared to be his best clothes. Standing beside the young elves was the oldest looking elf, who had long white hair with a few braided strands in the front. Marcus assumed that this was the elder.

"Lord Cousland," spoke the elder, offering a bow to Marcus. "What brings you to our community?"

"I'm here for the wedding," he answered turning to Nelaros, who was smiling. He then turned back to the elder, "If you would permit me of course."

The elder looked taken aback at him asking for permission. "We would be honored. Your elder speaks very highly of you."

"Soren is a good man; I have always enjoyed his company."

"I am Valendrian," the elf elder introduced himself with another bow.

"Marcus Cousland."

"My lord, I am honored!" said the elf bride with mousy brown hair and large brown eyes. "I am Vallora of the Highever Alienage."

Marcus smiled, "congratulations are in order."

She blushed, "You are too kind, my lord."

The elven women who had been staring daggers at him, openly snorted in amusement at his honest sentiment.

"Shianni," moaned the other young elf, who had short black hair and green eyes. He was the other Groomsman.

"We are not here to entertain you, Shem," the elf called Shianni spat.

Nelaros stepped forward, glaring at Shianni. "Don't talk to Lord Cousland that way."

"Nelaros," Marcus said calmly, he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. He was touched by his willingness to defend him especially when Marcus was sure so many of those within this Alienage were against him. He couldn't blame them for their hostility to his presence. All one had to do was look around to see their animosity had a basis.

"She is free to speak her mind."

"You bastard!" groaned Vaughan.

Marcus who had forgotten about the nobleman looked down to see the man was stirring on the floor, sporting a black eye and a swollen cheek.

"I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD!"

Marcus was unbothered by the threat, crouching down in front of the noble before hissing, "Not if I have yours first." He then grabbed the man by the hem of his shirt, yanking him to his feet. "Now apologize."

"To knife-ears," spat Vaughan, "NEVER!"

Marcus' fingers wrapped around the man's neck, slowly applying pressure to his throat, Vaughan began coughing in protest. He ignored his plea, narrowing his eyes in disgust at this pathetic excuse of a man. "APOLOGIZE!"

"I'm sorry," the man wheezed. His eyes watered while his cheeks were beginning to turn blue.

"Ladies, anything you like to add?" Marcus asked, releasing his grip around Vaughan's throat, so that he could wrap his hand around his arms forcing him to remain still.

The elven bride next to Nelaros cautiously stepped forward to the man. Her green eyes were blazing. She balled up her hand into a tight fist and swung, connecting with Vaughan's gut who let out a strangled cough as his knees buckled. He only remained standing because of Marcus' hold; the young Cousland felt the force behind the punch.

She then spat on Vaughan's face, "PIG!"

Marcus couldn't help but smile at the girl's fiery personality. Nelaros was indeed one lucky man. He would definitely have his hands full with that spirited lass.

"Kallian!" gasped Shianni.

She smiled and shrugged before coming back to Nelaros. "It felt right."

"Lady Shianni?" Marcus offered, turning Vaughan towards her.

A wicked smile flittered on her delicate face as she stepped forward and followed Kallian's example, slugging the bruised nobleman in the face. His head turning from the hit and Marcus had to take a step back to fully absorb the blow.

"I will see you all hanged!" groaned Vaughan.

"I don't think so," Marcus replied, leading Vaughan towards the edge of the platform. He then turned back to Shianni. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"Gladly," she said, kicking Vaughan in the back. He tumbled off of the platform with a yelp falling onto the ground.

The elves cheered.

"Tie him up too, and then toss all three into the mud," Marcus instructed. "Like the pigs they are."

The entire community watched and followed as a handful of young elves carried the three men towards a rather large pool of mud and other wastes. They cheered when one after the other was thrown in. The human nobles covered in filth, grime, and mud.

Marcus turned to Nelaros who was standing beside him. "Don't you have a lovely elven lady to wed?"

Kallian blushed.

Marcus grinned and bowed his head.

Nelaros rolled his eyes. "Don't let his charms fool you."

The tension within the Alienage all but disappeared after Marcus handled the nobles. Any sign of mistrust or animosity towards the young Cousland vanished. He stood in the front row amidst the elves watching with happiness for his friend; as Nelaros married the young Kallian while her cousin-Soris married the Highever elf-Vallora.

The elves cheered when the ceremony ended and soon a few elves gathered some second hand instruments and began to start playing music. The elves immediately started partnering off and dancing while the two couples danced at the center of the festivities. Both couples smiling and laughing with each other, and both seemed to be enjoying each other's company and the celebrations.

Marcus noticed Shianni was off to the side, her arms crossed but instead of frowning she was smiling. She hadn't said another word to him since the incident with Vaughan, and had yet to send another glare in his direction throughout the ceremony.

"Can't dance?" he asked, coming up alongside her.

"I can dance," she proclaimed indignantly. "I just intimidate the others."

"I can see why," Marcus agreed. "That was some punch."

She smiled, obviously savoring the memory. "You don't know how long I wanted to do that."

"He's been here before?"

She snorted. "Anytime he and his friends want a whore. They come here."

Marcus shook his head, unable to believe how cruel and vile some people could be. "Well, I don't think you have to worry about him or his friends again."

"There are always more shems," she replied nastily.

"I see," Marcus said, not sure what else to say. His eyes lingered to the dancing elves and he couldn't help but smile when he saw a laughing Nelaros dancing with Kallian. He had a good hunch, that those two would live a nice long life together.

"She looks happy."

Marcus turned to the red headed elf with the fiery green eyes. "Let's join them." He offered her his hand.

"You want to dance with me?" she repeated, unsure if she heard correctly. She suddenly got a suspicious look. "If you are expecting-"

He didn't let her finish. "All I want is a dance with a lovely and spirited maiden."

She still didn't look to believe him, and he couldn't blame her, after what he had witnessed and what she admitted about the other humans who would come here.

He shrugged and turned to go, realizing she probably wasn't interested. He was sure he could find another dance partner, but he didn't take two steps before he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. He turned around to see the fiery elf with a slightly apprehensive look.

"One dance?" she repeated.

Marcus smiled and offered her his hand, "Unless you insist on another."

She rolled her eyes but slowly took his hand. He led her to the throngs of dancers. Many of which stopped when they saw them pass. It was obvious by their slack jaws and gaping expressions that they all doubted what they were seeing. He led her close to where Nelaros was dancing with his bride, he turned to Marcus and couldn't help but shake his head while smiling.

They had arrived just as the last up-tempo song ended. The band began playing a slower song, as the couples who were dancing began to take each other in their arms and slowly moving to the gentle sway of the music.

He could sense her discomfort. "We can wait for another song."

"Trying to flake?" she challenged him.

He was surprised to see the corners of her lips tug upwards. He shook his head, unsure if he was ever going to be able to get a proper beat on the young elf. He gently placed his hand on her hip as hers fell on his shoulder, intertwining their other hands. He slowly began to lead her in the steps.

She was right, she indeed could dance and rather well as she was easily able to follow his steps. She did however have to look down a few times at her feet to watch her movement. She could dance, but he was sure that she was not use to dancing with a partner.

When the dance ended, Shianni looked to almost be smiling, as the elves clapped for the band. "Not bad for a human."

Marcus grinned, "Coming from you that sounds like a compliment."

* * *

><p>Bryce Cousland silently watched his wife pace their chambers. He could see the anxiety etched in her features, the worry in her blue eyes. He let her pace, knowing that was what she needed. He knew that was the best way for his beloved to work through what they had just been told.<p>

He remained by the fireplace, his arms crossed as his brown eyes regarded the others in the room.

Queen Anora Theirin sat on the edge of the sofa. Her soft blue eyes on the goblet she held in her hand. Her expression was impossible to read.

The last was a young guard with a crop of red hair. He was dressed in the Guard Captain uniform. He had been the one who had come to deliver the report. Anora, who found out about the charges, had come as a show of support and a means of comfort. He was touched by her concern. The report that Sgt. Kylon gave was troubling for any father to hear. It was about his youngest son.

The report was that he had caused a scene in the Denerim Alienage assaulting nobles who had come to congratulate the elves on their wedding celebrations. Apparently the Arl of Denerim's son was badly beaten by Marcus.

The Teyrn of Highever frowned. This didn't sound like his son. He was sure there was more to this story. He was not going to jump to conclusions, not until the facts were all presented. He owed his son that much.

"Marcus."

The voice of Eleanor brought Bryce's attention away from the fire, to see Marcus walk in. His hair was disheveled; his boots were caked in mud as were the bottom of his trousers, his face flushed.

"Is something wrong?" his blue eyes examining the others in the room for the first time. They lingered on the Queen and then on Sgt. Kylon before turning to him.

Bryce like always was taken aback by just how identical his eyes were to his mother's. He gave his son what he hoped was an encouraging nod.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Sgt. Kylon stepped forward, putting his hands to his chest plate before bowing to Marcus. "I'm Sergeant Kylon. I have come on behalf of the Arl of Denerim."

His face remained impassive, letting only two words slip by his guard. "I see."

Eleanor was by her son's side in an instant. Her hand wrapped around his arm in a show of support. "He is saying that you attacked him and his friends." She paused trying to gauge his attention before adding. "That's not true is it, darling?"

He noticed the flash of anger that shimmered beneath his son's blue eyes. The clenching of his jaw, the flexing of his fingers at his side, he was trying to control his emotions. "It is."

Bryce brought a hand to his face, gently pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew his son to be honest, but he was not expecting him to be so forthcoming about assaulting another noble.

Eleanor gasped. "What would possess you to do something so foolish?"

"Foolish?" Marcus repeated, anger seeping into his tone. "That bastard had interrupted Nelaros' wedding! He and his friends were planning on abducting the brides and other elven women to use as whores!"

_That slippery snake! _Pretending to be the victim while all the while he had been the instigator; Bryce shook his head, at this nobleman's antics and behavior. He looked towards his son, when their eyes met, he gave his son the briefest of nods, before showing him a proud smile. Marcus returned the nod with a look of appreciation. Bryce Cousland was very proud of his son today.

The Teyrn turned to the Queen, who had been surprisingly silent. He was startled by the angry stare that Anora was giving to the goblet in her hand; it was as if she was trying to melt the goblet with her gaze alone

"We…We have heard similar reports in the past," Kylon admitted uncomfortably, before shifting on the balls of his feet.

"He has been doing it for years!" Marcus snapped, turning to the city guard. "I would have stuck him myself if not for the wedding!"

Bryce stepped forward to reel in his son. "Son, calm down."

Marcus spun on his heel, to face him. His cheeks reddening and he opened his mouth to retort but Bryce met his son's fiery gaze and after a few seconds Marcus acquiesced, bowing his head.

"Yes, well elves do not serve as good witnesses, Your Grace."

"Sadly, Sergeant Kylon is right," Anora observed with a frown. "And since he was not caught in the act, we will be hard pressed to charge the man with anything."

"So he's free just like that?"grumbled Marcus with a shake of his head, throwing up his arms in disbelief.

Bryce frowned, opening his mouth to admonish his son for his behavior in front of the Queen, but Anora spoke first.

"As much as it pains me, Marcus, there is little we can do," she admitted, she held up her hand when he tried to speak. "However, I will have Sgt. Kylon look into these accusations both within the Alienage and within the Arl of Denerim's Estate." The Queen turned to the young city guard. "You will be able to do that for me?

Kylon immediately bowed his head when Anora turned to him. "Of course Your Majesty. I will begin the investigation right away."

Bryce could see the disappointment in his son's eyes. "That won't do anything, Your Majesty."

"It will grant him pause, Marcus," Anora corrected him. "Hopefully it will also serve as a deterrent if he tries any such action again. I assure you that I will not allow him to use a woman as his plaything, human or elven."

Marcus bowed his head. "Thank you for the audience."

Anora inclined her head at his act of submission but didn't further address him.

Kylon stepped towards Bryce. "I apologize, Your Grace, for my intrusion into your home and for the accusations against your son."

"You were only doing your duty."

"Thank you, Your Grace," replied Kylon, before turning to Marcus. "Lord Cousland-"

Marcus waved him off, "you are forgiven, though I would recommend that you keep more upstanding guards by the Alienage to make sure Vaughan does not seek vengeance."

Kylon nodded, "that is a sound idea, Your Grace. I will see to it that my most honorable men are positioned within and around the Alienage entrances."

"Thank you, Sgt. Kylon. You are a good man."

Kylon bowed once more before leaving the parlor.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Marcus," Eleanor said, sounding guilty for holding the smallest bit of doubt in her son. She immediately engulfed him into a hug.

"I understand, mother," he said, gently hugging her in turn.

Bryce smiled, when he watched mother and son embrace. However, the Teyrn was startled to see the anger in his son's eyes when he pulled away from his mother and even more startled when cast that look onto the Queen.

"Your Majesty, have you ever visited the Alienage?"

"What? Of course not," replied Anora, looking bewildered at the prospect. "However, I am told that it is in good condition."

"I see," Marcus replied. "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold as to say you may wish to dismiss those advisors."

Bryce stepped forward. His son had gone too far. "Marcus-"

"I beg your pardon?" asked a visibly upset Anora.

"No, father," Marcus said, in a firm voice.

Bryce frowned, preparing to reprimand his son, but Marcus was quicker going back at the Queen.

"They are living in squalor, Your Majesty! That place is unfit for beasts of burden or even our dead! Vaughan is simply one of the many problems that have plagued the Alienage. I will say that those elves have proven their strength and endurance for having to live in such filth."

Though proud of the stand his son was taking. Bryce did not think this the time or the place. Nor did he think that the Queen of Ferelden should be on the other end of his son's anger. He immediately stepped in between the two young nobles. He turned to Anora, whose sky blue eyes were transfixed on his son.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," his words stopped when she raised a finger to silence him. He reluctantly obeyed.

She stood up, her eyes never leaving Marcus's. "You have given me a lot to think about."

"I meant no ill towards your court or yourself, your majesty."

"And yet who is to be at fault if not for my advisors and my court?" countered Anora.

Bryce was unsure if Anora was upset with his son or not. She kept her tone controlled, and her expression impassive. Eleanor had done a marvelous job in teaching the young Queen in the art of court and politics.

"You have my assurances that I will watch this man closely. I will have Cailan speak to Arl Urien. He was always fond of Maric."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Marcus said, bowing his head. "All I want is a stronger Ferelden, for all of her people."

She inclined her head, no sign of anger or frustration flittered across her features when she gracefully pushed herself out from her seat.

"Thank you for coming, Anora," Eleanor observed, stepping in to fall in line behind the Queen.

Anora gently patted Eleanor's arm. "I was happy to lend my support to your family."

Bryce bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Majesty we are humbled and thankful for your concern." He then watched as two of the most powerful women in Ferelden departed without another word. He was proud and pleased with how well Anora had grown up under Eleanor's tutelage. He knew that Eleanor had all but adopted Anora, when she was little, seeing her as the daughter she never had.

"It's a pity," Marcus grumbled, crossing his arms, glowering at the fireplace.

His son's muttering punctured Bryce's musings. He looked up and was startled to see his son's dark features, "Pardon?"

Marcus stepped over to the side of the fireplace, bringing his fingers to the hilt of the fire poker. "I had the chance, father." He looked up and Bryce was taken aback by the lingering anger in his son's blue eyes. "I had the chance to run Vaughan through!"

Bryce had never seen his son so angry, so unsettled. It was a disturbing sight for a father to see his son being so consumed by this anger. Even if it was justified, Bryce was only too aware that anger was like a poison that would ruin one's heart and soul if allowed to linger.

"Pup," he broached softly, seeing the stiffness in his son's shoulders. "I remember one time when I was younger, around your age. We had just cornered a man who had been stealing from some of the farms around Highever." He looked up to see he had his son's attention.

"After a few weeks, we were finally able to track him down to a barn a mile outside of Highever. He had taken refuge in the barn; this is after he murdered the farmer and his family." He paused, he could still feel the burning anger that nearly consumed him when he confronted the thief and murderer. He could still remember the grisly sight of the slaughter of the family, the blood and the corpses strewn about in the house.

"When we had confronted him in the barn, the thief showed no remorse or regret for his action."

"What did you do?"

"I hit him with the pommel of my sword, and when he fell onto his back, I was on him, I had my blade at his throat. I was going to kill him…I had to. I thought it would be justice if I simply ran him through right there."

"It would have been."

"No, son, it wouldn't be justice. It would have been vengeance," Bryce sighed. He looked to see the confusion in his son's eyes.

"So you didn't kill him?"

"I was about to, but my father stopped me."

"What? Why?"

If he closed his eyes, the Teyrn of Highever could still see his young self standing in the barn. He could still hear the goading from the thief whose clothes were stained and dripping in the blood of the farmer's family. Yet, what he remembered most was his father, standing tall, and the words he told him.

"There are some men who live who deserve death, and others who have died that deserve life," Bryce paused, to see his son had let go of the fire poker and was looking to be processing what he had just said.

"He then asked if I could give it to them, if I could make such choices, to decide such fates."

"But the man was guilty!" protested Marcus, the concept behind the words not fully sunk in yet.

Bryce couldn't blame him. It had taken him awhile to fully comprehend what his father meant that day.

"Yes, he was, Pup," the father agreed. "But my father warned me that I should not be too eager to deal out death or judgment."

"But…but," sputtered Marcus, trying to forge some sort of rebuttal.

"What if next time the man was innocent, but the circumstances that surrounded him pointed to his guilt?"

Marcus' protest collapsed at that scenario; his shoulders slumped before he ran a hand through his hair. Bryce approached his son, putting his hands on his shoulders. "You have done nothing wrong, Pup. You made no mistake that has not been made by men far greater than us. Just remember no matter how wise one may be, no one can see all ends."

"I will, father."

Bryce smiled, patting his son on the shoulder, satisfied with his son's sincere sounding tone and resolute expression. "Good, Pup, I know that you will make your mother and I very proud of you when it is all said and done."

"Thank you, father."

He then enveloped his son into a hug, and as he patted his son's back, it was in the fatherly embrace that he knew that he was the lucky one. He was the truly thankful one.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in this update. Midterms and papers... Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter.  
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* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Five**

**Location: Denerim, Ferelden**

It had been two days since Marcus had attended his friend's wedding in the Denerim Alienage.

Marcus sat alone in his room, sitting at his desk and going through several pages of vellum that his mother had put aside for him. They were marriage offers.

He was humbled and surprised by the pile that his mother had presented to him that morning after he had asked for them. He knew that the Cousland family carried a good amount of respect, but he wasn't expecting the sheer number of proposals.

He ran a hand through his dark hair as he examined the offers by candlelight. He was feeling slightly overwhelmed while he looked through the offers, causing him to rethink his decision. He could admit that perhaps he had allowed his presence at his friend's wedding to affect his opinion on marriage.

However, he did not have the courage to tell his mother that he had changed his mind. Not after how happy she looked or sounded that he had finally decided to take a serious look at marriage. He silenced his doubts and took the offering with a polite smile, knowing his mother was more excited about the idea then he was.

He had gone through more than twenty already and not many were very promising. This included one from the Howes, it was for the hand of Rendon's only daughter- Delilah. Marcus had never liked the girl, and he knew the feeling was mutual, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to or could survive marrying into that family. So, the Howes were the first of many that found themselves in the rejection pile.

Marcus was examining one of the last pieces of vellum. He was intrigued that it came all the way from Nevarra and that it would be a marriage into the noble and military gifted house of the Pentaghast. He had read stories of the Pentaghast's past as many of them had become famous dragon hunters.

The relative that was being offered to him was no heir, but it would require him to stay in Nevarra in which he would be given a title and a post worthy of his family's accomplishments. He knew that many within the noble class of the Free Marches courted the Pentaghast for the prestige and wealth that would come into marrying such a family.

He was well rehearsed in politics to recognize what this offer was, an unspoken alliance. Nevarra and Orlais had been to war with one another countless times, and there were whispers that another war was brewing over the territory known as the Blasted Hills.

His family was respected throughout Ferelden and Orlais, for the latter because of his father's diplomatic duties and trips to Orlais in the last few years.

If the Couslands were to be married into the Pentaghast family, this could seal an alliance between Highever and Nevarra. With one of the most prominent families of Ferelden uniting with Nevarra, this could make Ferelden lean closer to allying with Nevarra then Orlais if war were to break out between the two countries once more.

It was a tempting offer, and by far the best he had read throughout the day. It had even come with a small portrait of the offered bride. The wedding portrait was put into a masterfully crafted dragon-bone locket. The young woman was no doubt beautiful with flowing dark hair, elegant facial features with sharp golden brown eyes. She radiated strength and confidence.

Marcus looked at the portrait and then back at the vellum. He put the proposal into a new pile, before he closed the locket and slipped it into his desk drawer.

He had read, '_In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar', _by Brother Genetivi. The scholar had gone in great detail to describe the breathtaking monuments and buildings that the capital of Nevarra offered. He even went as far as to say that only Orlais could rival such beauty and opulence.

He then leaned back in his chair, his back stiffening from the hours he had been sitting. Turning his head, he saw Padfoot had made himself comfortable lying in front of the hearth, keeping warm by the glowing embers of the fire.

He stretched his arms, raising them over his head as he readjusted himself in his chair.

"There you are brother."

He turned to see his older brother, Fergus leaning on the doorway with a smile.

"Looks like you're doing your exercise indoors today."

Marcus returned his brother's smile as Fergus walked into the room, taking a seat in a comfortable chair by Marcus's desk. Fergus's presence stirred Padfoot out of his slumber as the war-hound wagged its stubby tail before approaching the older Cousland. Fergus rewarded the hound's efforts with a scratch behind the ears.

After a few pats, a satisfied Padfoot went back to his cozy bed by the hearth.

"How went the meeting?" Marcus asked, aware that his father and brother were summoned to the Royal palace to speak with the King and other important nobles.

"It's always straight to business with you," Fergus observed, with a feigning pout.

Marcus shook his head, "my apologies, what gives me the pleasure of being able to host my charming older brother?"

Fergus laughed, turning to face him. "Don't forget handsome." He said with a playful wag of his finger. His mirthful brown eyes left Marcus and fell onto the pile of marriage offers. "Oho! What do we have here?"

Fergus snatched up a few of the vellums, his eyes shimmering with mirth. "It looks like my brother is quite the catch! The best catch in all of Thedas!"

Marcus could feel his cheeks reddening; he scratched the back of his neck, trying to fight off his own embarrassment at his brother's teasing. Even as adults, his brother still had a way to make him feel like an embarrassed young child.

"Give me those," Marcus made a snatch at the vellums, but his brother was quicker; raising them over his head, smiling ear to ear looking to be enjoying every moment of this.

"Now what will all the girls at the Pearl say when they hear this?"

"Probably the same thing they said when you finally got married," countered Marcus.

Fergus laughed, shaking his head ruefully. "Speaking of which, I was told that was the reason you were late to Nelaros' wedding?" Fergus elbowed Marcus in the ribs. "Good on ya, brother!" He added a playful wink.

"Erghh," Marcus stammered, feeling his cheeks heating up. "Who told you this?"

"The groomsman himself!" answered Fergus. "He came by this morning, before father and I left for our meeting."

Marcus silently noted to himself to pay Nelaros back for his 'accidental' slip up to his brother.

"So who was the unlucky girl?"

"She wasn't a serving girl at the Pearl," answered Marcus, fondly remembering his passionate night with Isabela. "She was a pirate-"

"Oh role playing I see?" cut in Fergus. "Let me guess, she was the lonely pirate captain and you were her loyal first mate, both of whom were looking for a good booty?"

Marcus covered his face with his hands, smiling in spite his humiliated self, his cheeks only reddening as Fergus continued to laugh at his brother's discomfort. He wasn't embarrassed or ashamed with what he and Isabela accomplished multiple times that night, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to go into the details with his brother.

"She was a pirate," defended Marcus, his own smile growing before he added. "And yes, there was booty to be found!"

"Oho!" Fergus said with wide, mirthful brown eyes as he clapped his brother on the back, "Nicely done, little brother!"

"I thought you would approve," Marcus said, thankful that he could feel his cheeks returning to their proper color.

"What are we going to tell these lovely ladies?" Fergus gestured to the papers he was holding. "That their beloved beau spends his time in brothels."

"You're the one who would drag me to them," pointed out Marcus.

Fergus held up his hands, his head turning to the open door, looking to make sure no one heard that particular comment. "Shush, brother, I don't want to be associated with a supposed scoundrel."

Marcus rolled his eyes, at his brother's feigning innocence. "Then close the door or you won't hear the gaudy details."

Fergus bowed his head, as if he was a servant, getting to his feet, he went to the door, poking his head out to make sure the corridors were clear before he closed the door. "Now, as much as I want to hear about your exploits and conquests, little brother, I am a married man and such the use of sex has changed and therefore I rarely get to enjoy the pleasantries of the fairer sex!"

"Oh-please," Marcus scoffed at his brother's antics and dramatizations. "Sadly, the stones walls in this castle are not thick enough to block out certain noises coming from occupied rooms within this estate." He was pleased when his taunt landed, since it was his brother's turn to look mildly embarrassed, as Fergus returned to his seat.

"It's approved once you're married, little brother," Fergus corrected him. "In some ways its encouraged." He added a wink for good measure.

Marcus held up his hands, not wanting to hear those details. "Can we please change the subject?"

"What, afraid of learning some pointers," Fergus's grin growing as he emphasized the final word.

Marcus sighed, at his brother's double meaning. "What answer can I give you that will have us steer this conversation in a less embarrassing matter."

Fergus opened his mouth, no doubt willing to unleash another verbal jest, but his eyes fell on the lone vellum that had not been with the others. He closed his mouth and snatched it up. "What is this?"

"It's just another wedding offer," Marcus answered, trying his best to sound casual, adding a shrug when his brother looked at him with doubtful eyes.

"So why isn't with the others?" observed Fergus, gesturing to the pile of others in hand before he put them back on the desk. His sole attention was on the proposal from Nevarra which he held in his hand.

"Because that pile was getting too big," Marcus lamely replied.

Fergus shook his head, not believing the lie. "No, this pile is of rejects, why else would the Howes be in this one?"

"It could be maybes," Marcus weakly offered.

"No, I know how you feel about Delilah. You would never entertain an idea of marriage with her."

Marcus mentally cursed his brother's sound reasoning and deduction skills. It was bad enough that his brother could tease him till his cheeks turned beet red, but it was even worse when his brother had this uncanny sleuthing ability that made it easy for him to uncover snippets of truth before masterfully putting it all together.

This was the reason; Marcus couldn't keep secrets from his brother, because Fergus would always figure it out for himself, no matter how careful or sly Marcus thought he had been.

"This is by itself, because-"Fergus's smile fell at the revelation, "Because you're considering it."

Of all the responses Marcus was expecting from his brother, this was not it. He was expecting a jest or a taunt, a crack about the unlucky wife or the wedding and marriage. There was no mirth in Fergus's brown eyes, only disbelief.

"Yeah, I am," Marcus admitted, not knowing how else to respond to his brother's unlikely and unexpected behavior.

"That would mean you would move way," Fergus's eyes were on the vellum. "You would have to move to Nevarra."

"Yeah, I would," Marcus agreed, still trying to figure out why his brother was acting so strange so suddenly. "But it's to be expected, I mean it was unlikely that I would be staying in Cousland Castle forever."

"I know that," Fergus said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. His eyes yet to leave the vellum, "But… I believed that you would still be within the Bannorn or… at least Ferelden." Fergus's eyes slowly went over the vellum meeting Marcus's. "Not another country."

"Nothing has been decided, Fergus," Marcus tried to reassure his brother.

Fergus let out a hollow sounding laugh as he put down the vellum. "And yet, it seems your best option."

"It is," Marcus reluctantly agreed, watching as his brother ran a hand through his own dark hair.

"It would be difficult," Fergus admitted.

Marcus perked. "What would be?"

"You moving away," Fergus said, with some hesitation as he shook his head. "We would barely see you and all."

Marcus frowned. "It's not like I wouldn't visit, or vice-versa."

"I know," Fergus said defensively, stroking his chin as he sagged in his seat. "It would just be tough on Oren. You are after all his only Uncle and all."

"Fergus what's wrong?" Marcus asked, suddenly, slightly uncomfortable by his brother's morose behavior and defensive tone.

Fergus let loose a weak chuckle, shaking his head as he did. "You're so thick sometimes, brother."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Are you going to make me come out and say it?" asked an exasperated Fergus.

"Say what?"

"That I would miss you!"

There was only silence that greeted Fergus's declaration.

Marcus was dumbstruck at his brother's adamant confession. Of all the things to expect that was not what he would have guessed was troubling his brother.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Fergus said, mockery seeping into his tone, looking and sounding frustrated.

"Nothing has been decided, Fergus, you know that."

"I know, little brother," Fergus admitted with a sigh. "But I'm confronted with the fact that you're not my little brother any more. You're a man, who will soon be a husband and a father."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Marcus held up his hands. "I've yet to even find a betrothed."

Fergus laughed softly. "I know, but you soon will be." He patted Marcus's knee. "I just know."

"What? How?" stammered Marcus, caught off guard by his brother's confidence and matter-of-fact comment about his undecided future.

"Because you're ready, Pup," Fergus clarified.

"I wouldn't say that-"

"Because you're too oblivious and thickheaded," teased Fergus.

"I think we have already established that," dead-panned Marcus, silently pleased to see his brother was smiling again.

"Hah! Yes, we have little brother," Fergus sobered slightly, meeting Marcus's eyes before adding. "You're going to be a good husband and father."

Marcus could only stare back, struck at how confident his brother sounded in his declaration. Hearing it from his mother was one thing, but to hear it from Fergus was another entity entirely for the younger Cousland.

It stirred something within Marcus. A sense of pride filled him at his brother's words. He held his head up higher, straightening his posture as he did. His brother's words brought a new confidence and comfort to the younger Cousland.

To know that his older brother, who he had admired his entire life believed in him, was something Marcus wasn't sure he could ever put to words.

"Thanks."

Fergus must have sensed just how much the words had meant to him, as he reached out and tousled Marcus's hair. "Let's not have this inflate your ego."

Marcus laughed, thankful that his brother could so easily change the mood. "I won't."

"Good, so it's settled," Fergus said, looking relieved and thankful that he had been able to speak so openly to him.

"Now will you tell me what the meeting at the Palace was about?" Marcus asked, he had some inclinations, but he wanted to hear it from his brother, and he hoped that his inklings would be proven wrong.

"I suppose that's only fair," admitted Fergus, leaning back in his chair. "You're bright enough to have guessed, little brother."

"I have some guesses," Marcus agreed, "Though I hope I am wrong."

"You're not," observed Fergus, not knowing what his brother's guess was. "We're going south to fight the Darkspawn."

"We?" asked a confused Marcus.

"Father and I," clarified Fergus. "We will be leading the Highever forces to Ostagar. The king hopes to end the darkspawn threat once and for all."

"In one glorious battle," finished Marcus. He remembered hearing the very words from King Cailan countless times during his own skirmishes with the darkspawn.

"Yeah, something like that," Fergus agreed, lacking any of his usual bravado or confidence that Marcus had often seen when his brother spoke of battles or war.

"What of Highever?" asked Marcus, not wanting to speak about the battle or of the darkspawn threat just yet.

"Father is putting you in charge," Fergus answered, looking up at him. "Congratulations, little brother."

"What?- Me? What about mother?"

"She'll be visiting Lady Landra and perhaps even the Queen." Fergus must have sensed Marcus's disbelief at the news. "Don't worry, little brother, you'll be fine."

"It's not me, I'm worried about," Marcus lied. He was very nervous and anxious about the responsibility that his parents were putting on his shoulders. However, he wasn't risking his life, his brother and father was.

"You know it will take more than a few darkspawn to defeat me," Fergus proclaimed, smiling as he did, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I know that, Fergus-"

"So then there's nothing for you to be worrying about." Fergus interrupted. "If anything I should be worried with what will be left of Highever when we return."

Marcus crossed his arms. "As thick headed as you may believe I am. I am not dumb, Fergus."

"I never said you were."

"I know what you're thinking," Marcus said. "I know what you're feeling."

Fergus sat straighter in his seat. His expression sobered and became stoic. "You do?"

"Yeah, I do," Marcus said, trying to inject some confidence into his tone. "It's… It's awful." He settled on the word, not knowing how else to describe the horrors he encountered while fighting those vile monsters at Southron Hills.

"Were you nervous?"

Marcus looked up to see there was no sign of mischief or jest in his brother's tone or expression. "No, I was terrified!" He gave a weak laugh, as he ran a hand over his face.

"Yeah, I bet," Fergus agreed, before sighing. "We were never trained to fight darkspawn."

"No, we weren't." Marcus leaned back in his chair. The memories and images were fresh in his conscious. They were scars within his psyche that he was sure would never truly heal. "But the Grey Wardens will be with you."

"Yeah, they will be."

"They are as good as advertised," Marcus said, hoping to inject some confidence in his brother and to undo the morose atmosphere that had fallen on him and Fergus.

"Good to know."

"You're going to be fine, Fergus," Marcus said, reaching over and patting his brother's arm. "If I can survive one battle, I'm expecting you to win it."

Fergus chuckled, "well you do make a good point."

"When do I not?" Marcus grinned.

Fergus rolled his eyes. "I thought I was the one with the bad jokes?"

"I'm entitled to a few," Marcus said, adjusting his collar.

Fergus still smiling stood up and Marcus followed his brother's example, pushing himself out his chair.

"Thanks, little brother."

"What are little brothers for?" Marcus countered with a shrug.

"Up until now, I had only thought they served as an annoyance," Fergus teased, the mirth in his eyes, bellying his words. He then patted Marcus on the shoulder before pulling him into a brief but brotherly hug which Marcus returned with equal fervor.

When the two brothers pulled apart after a few seconds, Marcus was thankful to see his brother return to his usual jovial self.

"Now, enough with these emotions, little brother," Fergus remarked, putting an arm around Marcus. "I know for a fact that there is some fine Orlesian wine in the cellar just waiting to be drunk."

"Lead on, brother."

"When do I not?" Fergus steered both himself and Marcus out of his brother's room, as the two began walking down the corridor. "On the way you can tell me about this pirate queen you supposedly ravaged."

Marcus groaned.

Fergus only laughed, seemingly taking joy out of in embarrassing Marcus.

In that moment with his brother, Marcus Cousland was very thankful that he was not an only child. Even amidst teases or jests, or embarrassing secrets, his brother's presence and wisdom was worth putting up with. To Marcus Cousland, Fergus wasn't just his brother, but his best friend and role-model. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

* * *

><p>"Are you going to bring me something, momma?"<p>

Iona smiled sweetly, looking down at her own little daughter- Amethyne. She shared her expressive green eyes, fair complexion and light hair. The others around the Alienage believed she was the spitting image of her mother. It was only Iona who seemed to see Amethyne's father in their daughter.

"We'll see, da'len," Iona said, sweetly, emphasizing the elvish word for 'little child.' Iona was always a bit sad when she had to leave her daughter; she was the world to Iona. The lady-in-waiting for Lady Landra kneeled in front of her daughter.

But Iona knew her duties to Lady Landra, and she knew that her daughter would be in good hands with her father's parents. It was her father's mother who was helping Iona and Amethyne learn the elven language of their ancestors.

Iona was eager to learn the language of her people. She knew that so much had been lost due to the wars between the elves and the humans, and even though she and her daughter were city elves. She wanted her daughter and herself to remember where they came from.

Laughter echoed around Iona, puncturing her thoughts about her people's language. She turned to see three people approaching her. Iona recognized the only female among the two men immediately, it was Kallian.

Amethyne idolized the spirited lass, and was heartbroken when she found out that she would be moving to Highever with her father and new husband.

That was how Iona was able to recognize the elf male, he was Nelaros. She had met him at the wedding. She couldn't help but smile at the reminder of the wedding, how happy and how much fun the celebration had been.

It caused her to remember her own wedding, all those years ago. She had been so happy, so blessed and so thankful. Those feelings only grew when she bore Amethyne.

She smiled sadly, her fingers gently rubbing the ring she still wore, Oh Norris. Her husband had died from a wasting sickness. He was an honest and honorable man, who Iona grew to cherish in the years of their marriage. It made it all the more difficult when he died, two years ago.

"Kally!" cheered Amethyne. The young girl had spotted her idol and rushed past her mother to greet the elf.

Kallian smiled, crouching down, Amethyne leapt into her arms almost knocking her over but she held on tight to the young girl in an emotional hug.

Iona stood up and approached the three. It was during her walk that her eyes fell on the third member. He was the only one who wasn't an elf. His height and his dark beard which covered his cheeks and chin clearly gave away his human origins.

It took her a second before she realized that this was Lord Cousland. She had remembered him from the wedding. He had been the one who had stopped Vaughan and his friends from doing something terrible.

She shuddered at what that perverted man would have done to Kallian and the other brides, if he had not intervened. She was surprised by the man's stance against them, and the respect he showed her people throughout the celebration.

"Iona," Nelaros greeted her. He and Lord Cousland were smiling, it was clear the two had been joking with one another.

Iona immediately curtseyed to the human, "My lord."

"That isn't necessary," he said, looking a bit awkward with the reaction. "Marcus will do."

Iona's eyes widened at his insistence to call him by his first name. He truly was different from the other humans she had known especially among the nobles.

"I will try," she replied, still a bit taken aback by his request.

He gave her a smile, before his appealing blue eyes went to Amethyne who was still clutching to Kallian. "Is this your daughter?"

Iona smiled with pride. "Yes, this is my little Amethyne."

Marcus crouched down to become eye level with little Amethyne. The girl shyly hid her face behind Kallian's legs.

"It's ok Amy," Kallian said softly. "Marcus is our friend."

"Really?"

Kallian smiled, "really."

Amethyne tilted her head past Kallian so that she could see Marcus. "Hello." She said meekly.

"Hello Amethyne. I am Marcus."

Amethyne nodded before returning to Iona's side, burying her head in her mother's dress. Iona couldn't help but chuckle at her daughter's behavior. "Forgive me ser; she's a bit shy around strangers."

He waved her off, "that's alright, but now I don't know what to do with this gift."

Like any child, Amethyne perked her head at the magic word, "Gift?"

Marcus nodded, "yeah, I had brought a gift, but…"

"What is it?" she asked, all signs of nervousness and shyness were replaced with excitement as her eyes widened with anticipation.

Iona could only laugh, as did Nelaros and Kallian at the young girl's change of mind and demeanor. Marcus took it in stride, bringing his closed hand forward before he opened it to show it was empty.

Amethyne frowned.

"Wait," Marcus told her, he then brought his hand slowly to her ear, "Just what I thought."

"What?"

"A silver," Marcus then produced the coin, showing it to Amethyne, who giggled and squealed with excitement before clapping her hands together. He presented the silver to her.

"That isn't necessary," Iona said, stepping in, before her daughter could become too attached to the gift.

Marcus, who had been crouched down, looked up at her. "It's a gift."

Iona was momentarily speechless. She hadn't accounted many generous humans before, especially one who did acts of benevolence without wanting a reward in the process. She could tell by his alluring blue eyes, that he was genuine in his effort to give the gift to Amethyne.

Iona felt something stir within her, as their eyes met. A warm feeling resonated within her chest; feelings and desires that she had long since buried after her husband had past were beginning to seep into her conscious.

"Thank you ser!" squealed a delighted Amethyne, snatching up the silver from him.

He smiled and gave the young girl, a small bow. "You are most welcome, lady Amethyne.

Amethyne giggled, before her eyes went back to the coin.

"I didn't know you were a mage," teased Nelaros.

Marcus shrugged, "My nephew loves that trick too," he stood back up from his crouching position. "As did Fergus and I when we were younger."

"You are most kind, my lord," Iona said, finding her eyes studying his rather trim but muscular frame while he stood back up.

Marcus cleared his throat.

"I mean, Marcus," she corrected herself, unable to stop herself from smiling as she did so.

"I take it you are Lady Iona?"

Lady Iona? She frowned; at not just the title he used to address her but by the fact he knew her name. "I am."

He smiled, "good, my mother wanted me to make sure you had your things for your trip to Highever. You and Lady Landra will be leaving with us."

"Oh," said Iona, finding the travel arrangements very agreeable. She then gestured to her small bag that she had placed on the ground to say goodbye to her daughter, "I'm ready."

He nodded, "may I?"

She didn't understand what he was referring to, until she saw him gesture to the bag. "No, that isn't necessary, I can-"

"I insist," he said, taking her decline in stride. Before she could stop him, he gently picked up her bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Truly, there is no need."

"It's like arguing with a wall," Nelaros put in.

Marcus laughed, before patting Nelaros on the back. "Thanks for the compliment, Nel."

"Thank you ser," Iona said, finding her cheeks warm when their eyes met. That same warmth spread through her chest as her eyes lingered on his body once he looked away. She was only forced to look away when she felt a tug from the hem of her dress. She looked down to see it was her daughter.

Iona scooped up her daughter. She had forgotten just how much bigger she had gotten. She was sure that she wouldn't be able to pick her up in a year or so. But now that she could, she was not going to waste the opportunity as she hugged her close. "You be good." She whispered into her ear.

"I will."

Iona smiled, kissing her daughter's brow as she placed her on the ground. Amethyne immediately went to hug Kallian.

"Don't worry, Amy you'll see me again," Kallian reassured the girl as she returned her hug. "Perhaps we could arrange a trip back here. Or you could come visit Nelaros and me when we get settled?"

"That's a wonderful idea," Nelaros said, putting a hand on Kallian's shoulder.

Amethyne nodded, tears swelling in her green eyes as she slowly pulled away from Kallian. "You promise?"

Kallian smiled, "I promise."

Iona hugged and kissed her daughter one more time before leaving the Alienage with Marcus, Nelaros, and Kallian. She looked back and gave her daughter one final wave before they left.

She always felt a tinge of sadness whenever she was forced to part from her. But she knew her daughter was in good hands and that she would see her soon enough.

"You have a wonderful daughter."

Iona looked up to see it had been Lord Cousland who had spoken. "Thank you, she is my world."

He nodded, "I can understand that."

"Tell me Marcus do you have children?"

Nelaros laughed and at first, Iona feared she had asked an inappropriate question especially when Marcus smiled.

"I don't think Thedas is ready for that," Marcus commented, he was still smiling. "I'm not even ready for marriage."

Iona turned so that she could hide her smile at this latest revelation. She had never been attracted to humans, but her opinion and desires were changing the more she was around this particular young noble.

"Are you alright Iona?"

She looked up startled to see Kallian was watching her, with a mischievous smile. "Yes, I'm fine."

Kallian sent her a wink, before waggling her brows. She knew! Iona feared, and to make it worse, she looked to be enjoying the fact that she knew too. Was she that obvious? Oh Maker please don't let Marcus know...

* * *

><p><strong>Next Chapter:Highever<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to all those who read and reviewed the last chapter. Sorry for the delay, but I hope this longer chapter can make up for having to wait so long. **

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Six**

**Location: Highever, Ferelden**

Padfoot whined.

Marcus Cousland who was walking beside his beloved mabari warhound could only smile. The noble and hound walked through the candle lit corridors of Cousland Castle. Dinner had ended hours ago, but that had not stopped the two from sneaking into the kitchen for a quick snack.

Padfoot whined again, nudging Marcus's leg in the process.

Marcus chuckled, knowing his hound was eying the last piece of bacon that Marcus had taken out of the kitchen. He looked down to see his hound licking his lips while the eyes remained transfixed on the bacon in his hand.

"Here ya go," he said, finally caving in to his dog's begging. He tossed the piece and the hound was quick to catch it, inhaling it in one monstrous bite.

A satisfied and well fed Padfoot let out a happy bark.

"Sometimes, I think I spoil you."

Padfoot barked again, wagging his stubby tail, Marcus chuckled before scratching his mabari behind the ear.

If Marcus Cousland was honest with himself this was not how he had foreseen his evening going. His uneventful evening was in no small part thanks to Rendon Howe visiting the castle, because of the Arl's presence Marcus was forced to remain for dinner to properly host their 'esteemed' company.

He was hoping to get to know the fair elven lady in waiting for Lady Landra, Iona, but the beautiful elf had gone to Nelaros' home to partake in an intimate homecoming dinner with his new bride and her father.

Marcus sighed, at the missed opportunity with Iona, before reminding himself that the pretty elf would be here for a few more days. He would have plenty of time to get to know the elf. It was a thankful reminder for Marcus while he made his way back to his room after visiting the kitchen and the library. From the latter, he had retrieved another tome to read to sate his late night reading. _"Tales of Destruction of Thedas"_ by Brother Genetivi was a classic tome which Marcus had read several times already, but he enjoyed the Brother's writing style and the rich history that filled the pages.

If anything could take his mind off his missed opportunity with Iona and the sleepless night he was facing, it would be a tale of destruction, chaos, war, and battles against Qunari, darkspawn, blood mages, and elves.

It was not the tales of battle or wars that excited Marcus. He had experienced enough of battles in his brief stint fighting darkspawn incursions in southern Ferelden. It was the stories, the characters, and the events that excited Marcus. The stories of past rulers whether they be archons, emperors, or kings, Marcus believed there was plenty to learn from all of them. He enjoyed reading and studying the politics that those before him used in handling both the elves and the Qunari. Whether he was reading of the first Blights or the Exalted Marches, Marcus was fascinated by history, and was never able to quench his thirst of knowledge.

The mention of the Blight, reminded him of the other honored guest his father had staying within the castle. A Grey Warden, but it was not just any Grey Warden, he was the Commander of the Grey, whose responsibility was overseeing and commanding all of the Wardens in Ferelden. However, Marcus was already familiar with Duncan, having fought with the senior warden briefly in Southron Hills. It was Duncan who had saved his life during Marcus' last battle in Southron Hills, personally coming to the rescue when a genlock was preparing to decapitate the young nobleman.

The senior warden had been hoping to recruit Roderick into the Grey Wardens. Even though during the dinner, he boldly suggested his interest in trying to make Marcus a Grey Warden. It was a notion that his father had thankfully shot down at once. Marcus remembered Duncan's bold attempt to recruit him after the Battle in Southron Hills, that time he had been saved by his mentor, and famous Ferelden general, Loghain Mac Tir. Who quashed any idea of losing his apprentice to the mysterious order of darkspawn killers.

Padfoot's barking broke through Marcus' reflections of Duncan's continuous attempt to recruit him and brought him back to his current surroundings. He was about to make his last turn and enter the corridor that would lead straight to the Couslands private wing. He was also quick to notice that something up ahead had caught the hound's attention and was the reason why Padfoot was barking. The mabari's tail wagging as his attention was directed at the end of the corridor, before Marcus cold so much as give his hound a command, Padfoot trotted down the corridor causing a curious master to follow his hound, silently wondering what had caught his hound's attention in the first place.

It was when Marcus turned the corner did he realize that it was his nephew, Oren who had been crouching low, hugging the stone wall possibly in a dire attempt to go unnoticed by Marcus and Padfoot. His young nephew was in his sleeping clothes simple dark pants and white cotton shirt, but he was also carrying a wooden sword.

Padfoot undeterred by Oren's squatting in the corridor immediately greeted the future heir of Highever by licking the boy's face.

"Padfoot!" protested a giggling Oren, trying to fight off the licking hound with his free hand. Satisfied, that he had properly greeted the young boy, Padfoot gave him one lick across the cheek before returning to Marcus' side, sitting on his haunches.

Marcus was sure that Padfoot had stopped licking and playing with the boy, because the hound knew that playtime was over. "Oren, what are you doing up?"

His nephew who was still squatting in the corridor, slowly slid down to the floor, stretching his legs as he did, no doubt, they had grown stiff and sore while he had kept up that awkward crouching position.

Oren sheepishly lowered his head, and Marcus was thankful to note that his nephew had the good grace to looked ashamed at being caught sneaking through the castle at this hour.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Oren," Marcus moved so that he was standing in front of Oren. "Please look at me when you're talking to me."

Oren obeyed, hesitantly meeting Marcus' blue eyes with his own brown. There was no doubt when Marcus looked into his nephew's eyes. He was looking into the eyes of his brother, and of his father.

Marcus gestured to Oren's sword, "and here I thought you were sleep dueling."

Oren giggled, the mirth shimmering in his youthful brown eyes. "For Serious Uncle!"

Marcus could feel his own lips tug upwards into a smile. "On the dueling while you slept?"

"Uncle!"

"Yes?" Marcus asked innocently, before reaching out and rustling his nephew's hair earning him further protest with a huff. Marcus who did enjoy teasing and playing with his nephew, however, understood the seriousness of the situation and easily transferred into the role of serious uncle.

"You know you can't be up this late, and you know you're not supposed to be wandering the castle halls at night, unattended."

"I know," Oren admitted, the young boy lowered his head instinctively but to his credit, remembering Marcus' request, he soon raised his head back up though it was difficult for his nephew to retain eye contact. "I was just trying to go on an adventure."

Marcus raised his eye brows at his nephew's choice of excuse. "You were going on an adventure?" His curiosity compelled him to add, "In the castle corridors?"

"Yeah," Oren agreed. "Papa told me the stories of you and him exploring the castle grounds."

_Thanks Fergus_, Marcus dryly thought. He knew his older brother well enough to know that Fergus would get a kick out of this story when he returned from Ostagar. Marcus had no trouble in believing that his older brother would indulge his son by telling stories of their own adventures as kids, just as he was sure that knowing his brother, Fergus was more than likely to add a few embellishments to the tales.

It was true that he and Fergus had gone on several adventures while they were kids, exploring the castle corridors and grounds in the late hours of the night. To Marcus' defense his brother was the one who usually dragged him on them, since Marcus was usually more than satisfied staying in his room and reading up on history or other tomes.

Now the young uncle was also aware of the double standard presented to him for having to confront and lecture his young nephew on the same rules that he and Fergus had broken numerous times at Oren's age.

"Well, your father and I were wrong." Marcus had almost convinced himself with his choice of words and the tone he coupled it with, looking down at his nephew he could see the confusion in the boy's eyes.

"But papa talked about all the fun you had!"

_Of course he did_, Marcus sighed, realizing that he needed to pick a proper tactic that he could use to hopefully dissuade his nephew from repeating this offense.

"Did he tell you our punishment, when we were caught?"

His words got the desired effect, as he could hear the visible gulp that his nephew gave coupled with his wide eyes, Marcus was positive that his brother left off the unsavory details of their usual punishment for being caught.

"You mean you were punished?" Apparently the thought of Marcus and Fergus being punished as kids was a foreign and terrifying concept for Oren to grasp.

"I'm not surprised Fergus left it out," remarked Marcus, before taking a few shaky breaths deciding to milk the situation his efforts bore fruit as his nephew paled at his exaggerations. "Nan had a fit, when she caught us." Marcus explained, "She would give us a few good lashes with one of the wooden spoons she used for the soups."

"She did?"

"Oh, you bet she did!" assured Marcus, though he was being a bit dramatic, he wasn't exaggerating on the pain that Nan could cause wielding those spoons.

Oren's hands immediately went to cover his bottom, his head darting to both sides as if expecting Nan to come out of the shadows brandishing the now infamous soup spoon.

Marcus taking pity on his nephew, crouched down, so that he could become eye level with him. "Don't worry, Oren, I won't unleash the wrath of Nan on you."

He looked up, slowly dropping his hands from shielding his bottom, "You won't?"

"No, not if you make me a promise."

Oren immediately nodded, "I will, Uncle, I will!"

"You have to promise me that you won't go sneaking out of your room again, Oren."

"I promise Uncle," he quickly agreed. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"I know you didn't, Oren," Marcus said soothingly, gently patting his nephew's shoulder. "We don't want you to repeat the same mistakes your father and I made."

"I'll try, Uncle."

Marcus picked up his nephew's sword, offering it to him which he gladly took. "I know you will." He stood backup to his full height, bringing his hand through his beard while he looked over his nephew. "Now, I believe we can remedy your sleeping problem."

"We can?"

"Yes," Marcus said, with a feigning sign. "I suppose I could read you a story, but only if you try to fall asleep."

Oren beamed, all traces of fear and anxiety at being spanked by Nan being replaced with the happiness and excitement of his uncle's proposition. "I promise, Uncle!"

Padfoot barked happily, trotting around the young boy seemingly taking excitement at the young boy's own happiness and excitement.

_At this rate, they'll wake the whole castle,_ Marcus mused, watching with amusement the antics of his nephew and hound as they happily bounded together in front of him. He smiled, despite knowing that he should be punishing his young nephew for sneaking out at this hour. Instead, he laid a hand on his nephew's shoulder leading him down the corridor that would take them to the private chambers of the Cousland family.

Marcus knew he should be harder on his nephew for sneaking around, but the soft hearted uncle was unable to at this late hour. He knew his nephew to be an obedient boy, and trusted him not to make the same mistake twice. He was also quick to remind Oren as they walked back to the boy's room that next time he tries to sneak out, he might not be so lucky in who he bumps into, after all Nan still uses that wooden spoon to this day…

Upon arriving in Oren's room, the young boy was quick to crawl across his bed, discarding his wooden sword on his bedside table before sliding into his covers. Upon getting situated under his blankets, he looked up at Marcus expectantly, as if showing his uncle that he was willing to be well behaved and ready for sleep as soon as his uncle began to tell him a story.

Padfoot was next to make himself comfortable, jumping onto Oren's bed. The war-hound reached the head of the bed, receiving a few well placed scratches behind his ear by Oren in which the young boy was rewarded with some slobbery kisses on the cheek. Padfoot then positioned himself cozily at the foot of Oren's bed, stretching his legs as he did and resting his head at the edge of the bed.

Marcus quietly carried the chair from Oren's desk and positioned it below the candles that were still lit on the wall above Oren's bedside table. His bottom barely touching the cushioned wooden chair before his nephew asked.

"What story are you going to tell me, Uncle?"

He first looked to the bookshelf on the other side of Oren's bed, which only housed a few books but all of them were considered favorites to his young nephew. In other words, the stories had been recounted to Oren hundreds of times, not wanting to repeat one of the stories Oren was no doubt used to, Marcus turned his attention to the book he had gotten from the library.

"It's a story about gold skinned giants, who came to our shores on great towering boats from a faraway continent."

His description got the desired effect, looking up to see his young nephew's eyes shimmered with his excitement. "Are you going to do different voices?"

Marcus frowned, "Different voices?"

Oren answered his uncle's question in a tone that signaled the young man was use to clarifying his response with others who read him stories. He spoke in a quiet, calm manner that hardly suited a young boy of seven, coming on eight.

"You know, Uncle like when you read me the stories of Black Fox and how you use different voices for the different characters."

"This isn't one of those kinds of stories, Oren," Marcus clarified, opening up the tome, and skimming through the opening pages before finding the first chapter which detailed the arrival of the Qunari. He looked over the tome to see his nephew's disappointed and deflated reaction.

"But I suppose, I can try," Marcus said hastily, aware that he had fallen prey to his nurturing uncle instincts in wanting to please the young boy in front of him. His assurances got the desired effect Oren grinning ear to ear, brimming with excitement at the promise of a more entertaining tale with a cast of numerous voices.

Marcus could feel the slight swell of his chest; no doubt from his Uncle persona who was receiving a good proper boost at being able to successfully placate his nephew. He cleared his throat, and began to read about the history of the Qunari's arrival to Thedas in what he promised his nephew to be the first of his many voices…

* * *

><p>"It took the collective strength of all of the nations of Thedas but humanity had been able to successfully push back the golden giants…" Marcus paused, in what he hoped to be his last voice of the evening. He looked over the book to see that his nephew was sound asleep.<p>

Smiling, Marcus closed the book, realizing that his nephew had probably fallen asleep earlier in the readings, but Marcus had been so captivated by the story that he continued reading until the soft snores of his nephew signaled his need to stop reading to his now sleeping audience.

Marcus stood from his chair, stretching his aching back while he did, which had become stiff. He placed the book on the chair before approaching his nephew. He carefully, pulled the covers over his nephew, who offered no protest or resistance, remaining fast asleep.

He then bent down, kissing his nephew's forehead, before blowing out the lights from the candle above the bedside table. He returned the chair to its proper position, picking up his book and leaving his nephew to his peaceful sleep. Padfoot was deftly able to jump off the bed, and followed his master out of the door and back to their chambers.

Marcus having read to his nephew for the better part of an hour, found his own growing weariness increase and a strong desire for his own attempt at sleeping. He placed his book on his nightstand and not even bothering changing out of his formal clothes from the dinner that evening. He simply collapsed onto his bed, closing his eyes, and was quick to find his own peaceful sleep…

* * *

><p>Barking…<p>

That was the first noise Marcus was able to discern. His short sleeping bout, had hardly refreshed him, feeling drained and exhausted, and a growing frustration at being woke up so prematurely by his war-hound.

He blinked in the darkness of his room, pushing himself up by the elbows to see Padfoot was standing on his own bed, his attention at the door as he continued to bark. Marcus frowned, rubbing his eyes as he did, wondering what could be riling Padfoot at this late hour. Marcus had opened his mouth to chide his dog for barking for no reason, but a cacophony of loud voices beyond his door caused him at once to bite his tongue.

He was in a sitting position, readying himself to find out what was going on outside his chambers, when his door burst open, showing a servant he recognized stumbling in, looking frantic and petrified.

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

A pair of arrows peppered the servant's throat, silencing him before sending the servant sprawling across Marcus' bedroom floor. A geyser of blood dousing the room before two intruders leapt in with swords and shields drawn.

Padfoot more prepared for the attack was holding his own against the two armed intruders, allowing Marcus ample time to push himself out his bed. Relying on his momentum, and the element of surprise from his bed, he leapt towards the nearest soldier who was preoccupied by fending off a dangerous Padfoot.

The momentum behind the jump and the tackle sent the two men toppling to the ground. The soldier's head slammed backwards into the stone floor; a sickening crack echoing throughout the room to signal the soldier's instant death.

Padfoot had tackled the second soldier, feet away from Marcus, clawing at the man's exposed throat, killing him instantly. Satisfied that the soldier who was now a corpse posed no further threat; the war-hound got off of his latest victim before looking expectantly at Marcus for further instructions.

Marcus was quick to go retrieve his sword and shield. He felt all of the exhaustion that had been hampering him seconds ago be drained from his body while adrenaline began coursing through his veins. He was quick to adapt to the adrenaline even though to him, it felt like minutes ago, he was reading Oren a story, and tucking his nephew into bed…

"OREN!" The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach, not bothering with his armor, he charged out of his room with his faithful mabari hound at his heels. He and hound ran out into the foyer and into the waiting arms of a handful of intruders who had positioned themselves between his room and Oren's room.

Marcus didn't bother to study the heraldry of their armor, or the faces of these men, instead he threw himself into the teeth of their formation. He dodged the first strike from rogue, and then a second, and lazier strike, before parrying the second rogue's attempts. He was quick on his feet, dancing around the two rogues avoiding their blades and careful of any backstab attempts the two might try on his unarmored torso.

The two intruders had suspected him to be easy prey without his armor. An advantage that Marcus was quick to exploit, quickly proving to be a tougher foe then expected. He sliced his sword in a cutting arc, heaving through the man's leathers who gasped and gaped when he and Marcus were sprayed in the rogue's blood.

Marcus wrenched his sword out of the corpse; in time to dodge the remaining rogue's strikes that were becoming more desperate. Marcus swung with his shield, connecting with the rogue's chin. The rogue groaned, staggering backwards-giving Marcus the opening he needed to run the rogue through with his sword.

Padfoot had finished off the last archer tackling him to the ground before slashing and clawing at the archer's face and throat, providing the hound with a messy kill.

Marcus didn't dally in the foyer to inspect the corpses, dashing across the foyer towards his brother's room, not forgetting what had caused him to burst out of his room moments ago. He kicked open the door and he nearly emptied his stomach at the gruesome sight before him.

Oriana Cousland lay in a pool of blood. Her face stained in a last expression of fear and horror at what she would witness before granted death. Her dress was ripped and torn in several places, showing that the men had tried to ravage her. The knife that was used to kill her was still shamelessly sticking out of her stomach.

Marcus blinked back tears at the grisly scene of his sister-in-law's death, Padfoot let out a low whimper at the sight. He quickly made his way across the room, careful to avoid stepping in the growing pool of his sister's blood, of whom he would pay his respect of her death momentarily, but first he needed to get to Oren.

He hurried into the next room, his heart sinking when he noticed the door was already open, nudging it with his foot, to open it wide enough for him to enter. He hadn't walked two steps into his nephew's room before he was forced to bend over and vomit.

His seven year old nephew's body lay broken and beaten, his legs and arms bent in odd angles with a sword protruding from his chest, pinning the young boy to the floor. Tears stained his pale cheeks; Oren's face was set in a permanent look of pain and horror. There was some lingering blood in his mouth that had leaked from his bottom lip, dribbling down his chin in a few droplet trails of blood.

This couldn't be possible, he thought numbly, while his throat burned from the lingering bile. He had just been in his nephew's room an hour ago, reading him a story to fall asleep, and tucking him in.

His hands were shaking, forcing him to drop his sword and shield to cautiously approach his nephew's body. Marcus could feel tears streaming down his cheeks, as he knelt beside his nephew, his pants sopping in the blood on the floor that had pooled around Oren,

_Oh Oren,_ Marcus moaned, as a pained sob escaped his lips. His trembling fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword that was embedded in his nephew's chest. In a swift tug, he was able to remove the sword with a sickening, wet sounding crunch that riled his stomach and forced him to blink away more tears.

His tears dripped down his cheeks, splashing onto Oren's pale face. I should have protected you, I never should have left. The cold realization slithered around his insides, before wrapping itself around his heart and painfully squeezing.

He never should have went to his own room, if he had been here when the soldiers had come, he could have saved Oren. He could have saved Oriana too… The thought of his sister-in-law in the next room, laying in a pool of her own blood, ravaged by Howe's men, caused another sob to escape his scratchy throat.

As Padfoot approached Oren's body, the hound tentatively sniffed the air, a lower whimper escaping his powerful jaws. When he finally approached the young boy, who had spent hours upon hours playing with Padfoot and feeding him from his own plate, the hound instinctively nudged the boy's hand expectantly, but Oren's hand fell to the floor. Padfoot stepped back, and let out a soft howl into the night, mourning the death of the child.

Tears dripped down Marcus's face and onto the corpse of his young, innocent, nephew. He cupped his nephew's cheeks; the touch of Oren's skin was still deceivingly warm. He tentatively wiped away the warm blood off of his nephew's chin. He bent over, so that their foreheads were touching, before he ran his hand through his nephew's soft, curly and messy brown hair.

An action that had always brought the young's boy ire and protest now brought nothing. It was only an hour ago that he playfully tousled his nephew's hair, eliciting a giggling protest and playful huff.

More tears came down Marcus' cheek as the memories washed over him, confronting and teasing him with the life that had just been unexpectedly ripped away from him.

Marcus carefully picked up Oren's lifeless body, and gingerly placed it on his bed, his eyes lingering on the gaping hole in Oren's chest which had ended his nephew's young life. Marcus bent down, placing a gentle kiss on his nephew's brow. When he stood back up, the sight of his nephew's mangled body brought another choking sob, feeling a cold shiver envelop the second Cousland son, feeling as if a tub of icy water had been thrown on him. The young man was trembling while he watched Padfoot come alongside the bed, and following his master's lead, Padfoot nuzzled Oren's outstretched hand before licking the boy's fingers and letting out another whimper, before finally stepping away.

His knees buckled, but he forced himself to turn away from his nephew's body and he left his nephew's room. He removed the sword in Oriana's chest and quietly put her to her bed, trying to reclaim his sister's dignity at being pawed at by Howe's men. The only sounds in the room came from Marcus' soft sobbing and the whines from his beloved hound.

It was after he kissed Oriana's brow that he heard the distinct sound of footprints approaching him. Padfoot arched his back, preparing to pounce, baring his teeth, and growling at the intruder, but it was not an attacker who ran into Oriana's room.

"Mother?" asked Marcus, surprised at the sight of his mother; her sudden appearance momentarily shaking him from his mournful stupor that was brought on by the death of Oriana and Oren. She was dressed in her leathers which she wore during the Rebellion. She held her bow deftly in one hand and Marcus noticed the quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

The hardened face of the battle maiden and Teyrna of Highever softened when her blue eyes fell on Marcus. "Darling," she said, their blue eyes meeting, look of relief and hope shimmered behind her eyes, but it was replaced with despair and anguish when her eyes drifted towards Oriana's body.

"Oh no," she gasped, her deft fingers who skillfully could handle a bow and arrow now covered her face as tears became to slip through.

Marcus succumbed by his own grief didn't even have time to approach his mother to offer her comfort before she spoke through her own tears.

"What of Oren?" she asked, dropping her fingers to the side, a flicker of hope lacing her anguish tone. "Surely they wouldn't harm him. He is but a child."

She stepped towards her grandson's room, but Marcus was quicker, grabbing her by the forearm, "Don't, mother."

She resisted his grip, trying to fight it off while pulling herself towards Oren's room. Her struggle and his resistance seemed to complete crack her battle maiden façade. "NO, NO, NO!" She yelled. "Let go of me Marcus! Let me see my grandson!" Her voice cracked as more tears came streaming down as she was forced with the realization that her grandson had not survived the ordeal.

Marcus didn't let go of his mother, he instead tentatively pulled her to him and she collapsed into his embrace, sobbing, but her tears surprisingly didn't last. In less than a minute, she pulled away from Marcus, who was surprised to see her blue eyes hardening. She was no longer the mourning grandmother, she was the battle maiden and Teyrna who would fight to the death to defend her home and seek revenge on those who killed her family.

The transition was astonishing for Marcus, he was sure that she was burying the raw pain and anguish emotions that Oren and Oriana's death stirred within her. "Come Darling, we must leave."

Marcus retrieved his sword and shield and followed his mother out of the room. The mother and son approached the bodies of the intruders who Marcus and Padfoot had slain in their attempt to get to Oriana's room. He nudged one of the corpses onto his back to see the man's heraldry.

Eleanor gasped. "That's the standard of Amaranthine!"

Marcus shook his head in disgust before violently kicking the corpse in an attempt to vent his growing anger. "Howe's men were never delayed! He planned this!"

"How could he?" Eleanor gaped, staring at the familiar heraldry of the Howe crest, a family who's been allies with the Couslands for generations. "They plan to murder us all." She turned her hardened blue eyes on Marcus, momentarily softening but the steely resolve could still be seen shimmering beneath. "You need to get dressed, darling. We need to find your father."

After seeing the corpses of his sister and nephew, Marcus didn't feel like fighting, he felt like dying. Why should he be allowed to continue to live and fight when his own seven year old nephew and sister were cut down in the middle of the night?

He had failed his father. Their home was under attack. He had failed Fergus, allowing his brother's family to perish in the blink of an eye. What kind of man was he? His questions only further strengthened the cold tendrils of guilt he could feel within grappling around his stomach and painfully squeezing.

"I failed them," he moaned. "I failed them."

He felt a strong grip on his shoulders. "No, this is not your fault," she corrected him. "This is Howe's. He is to blame! He must get what's coming to him. He is a fool, if he thinks us Couslands will just roll over!"

The fiery resolve in his mother's hardened voice, momentarily banished the grieving stupor and numb pain that had been suffocating him. Taking strength and resolve in his mother's voice and words he went to his room to prepare for the coming battle and struggle that was bound to wait them within the castle.

It didn't take Marcus long to change. Thankfully, when he was apprenticing under Loghain, the Hero of the River Dane had drilled his apprentice in the importance of being able to quickly put on his armor in case they were under attacked. He had never thought that he would need to undertake such a drill, but that had not stopped him from paying attention when the drill commenced. He was now able to successfully replicate since he was able to change into his armor in a matter of minutes.

Stepping out of his room, his mother was quick to report. "They are spreading throughout the castle."

He tightened the grip of his sword in his right hand before sliding his left hand and arm into his shield strap, before tersely replying, "Then we need to move quickly."

* * *

><p>Castle Cousland was enveloped in chaos. Smoldering ruins and blood-splattered walls were around every corner. Marcus Cousland had been able to successfully rally a few servants and a handful of guards, and were now trying to cut a path towards the main hall, but they were being met by strong resistance.<p>

The newly acquired family sword in his right hand, accompanied with the shield with the Cousland heraldry of two laurels in his left. Marcus led the attack on the traitors.

Howe's men had been relentless. This was treason! Not only for Howe, but also for every soldier who accompanied this assault! These men were running amuck throughout the castle killing, plundering, and raping without consciousness.

Marcus took out his anger and guilt on these seditious soldiers. Each one deserved the same fate that would await the Arl if Marcus ever came across that snake. It was death.

Marcus pushed forward with his shield onto a dual wielding warrior who stumbled back from the momentum. He pulled back his shield and swung his sword in a high cutting arc that cleanly cut through the soldier's neck. His head toppled off in the shadows while the body swayed momentarily before being pulled down by gravity.

Eleanor Cousland was proving to be every bit the warrior maiden she had been portrayed as in the stories during the Rebellion against Orlais. The aging Teyrna's skills had not diminished in the years of inactivity, as she let loose arrow after arrow with deadly precision upon Howe's men.

One such arrow whizzed by his ear before Marcus heard a grunt. He turned around to see a rogue who had just materialized out of the shadows behind Marcus and had been ready to execute a clean backstab, but the arrow had saved Marcus; which was now embedded into the rogue's flesh just under his chin. He blinked in surprise before falling onto his back, dead before he hit the ground.

More and more of Howe's soldiers continued to pour out from the shadows with their ferocious mabari war-hounds. Two heavily armored and armed knights were leading the seditious charge; they had just cut down a pair of elven servants who were armed with nothing more than cooking knives.

The sight of the approaching knights and hounds sent a sliver of panic through the guards and servants who Marcus had rallied to defend the castle.

Afraid that they may try to flee the mayhem, Marcus took point, raising his sword to give the command to charge. "Rally to me, men, rally to your Teyrna! This is for Highever!"Not bothering to look back to see if his words had struck the proper cord, Marcus lowered his head and charged forward straight towards the two skilled knights.

He saw arrows fly past him, no doubt from his mother, but the knights easily dodged the volley sent by the Teyrna. Their swords clashed with Marcus' causing sparks to spit from the steel blades as he met the attack of both knights.

Marcus gritted his teeth, at the amount of force and strength behind their attack, his knees buckled but he refused to lose his balance. He tried to keep his ground, but his shuffling feet signaled that it was a losing battle. He was rapidly losing ground and momentum.

He desperately swung out with his shield, in hopes of stalling and dividing their coordinated attack. It worked. The knights were forced to break away, to avoid the shield, both knights who were wielding massive greatswords.

One of the knights stepped forward in hopes of pressing the advantage and trying to regain their momentum, but as the knight was about to swing, it was mowed down by a sprinting Padfoot. The knight's awkward stance in holding the greatsword worked against him, as steel and fur toppled over one another with knight and hound wrestling for domination, grunts and growls exchanged between the competitors.

Marcus finding strength in his own hound's actions pressed the attack on the other knight who had been caught off-guard by the sudden appearance of Padfoot. However, the knight's skill with the greatsword was evident as he was able to parry each and every one of Marcus' advances. The young nobleman prodded again and again with his family sword, trying to find a weakness in the knight's defense, but each prod was parried, and each strike deflected.

The helmed knight laughed. "Blood can't get you everything boy!"

Marcus could hear the sneer in the man's words. "You'll die for this!"

The knight responded to his threat, by suddenly pulling his sword away which had been grappled with Marcus', the sudden action caused Marcus to lose his balance, stumbling forward. The knight was quick to take advantage, swinging his greatsword in a low arc right where his head was.

Marcus sidestepped the swing, watching the sword miss his face by mere inches, as the breeze from the momentum whipped against his face as his nose was within inches of the steel blade.

The knight recovered effortlessly and led a relentless offensive, deftly swinging again and again with his massive greatsword. Marcus was forced to use both his sword and shield to absorb the hits that he was not quick enough to avoid. Each blow that he was forced to absorb sent a powerful strum through his arms and legs that threatened to overcome the young nobleman who was forced to appreciate the prowess of the knight who wielded this greatsword as if it was a mere yardstick.

Marcus grunted, when his sword met the knight's sword once again, sparks emulating from the tip of the two blades. Marcus then brought upon his shield to pin the knight's greatsword between his shield and sword. The knight growled behind his helm, trying to pull loose his greatsword, but Marcus kept his grip tight, gritting his teeth at the shot of pain that went up his shield arm.

The knight was so disgruntled and preoccupied with trying to free his sword that he did not see the arrow that whizzed above Marcus' shoulder. The arrow peppered into the unprotected underarm of the knight, spraying Marcus and the knight in the latter's blood.

The knight shouted a curse, stumbling backwards, and dropping his greatsword because of the arrow's precise strike in the underarm of the arm that had been carrying the greatsword. It was an involuntary reaction that left the knight exposed.

Marcus was quick to take advantage, slamming his shield into the embedded arrow, causing it to further sink deeper into the knight's flesh. He followed it up with an upward motion of his sword, his blade sinking deep into the man's thin layer of unprotected throat that lay just underneath the helm and just above his chest plate. Blood escaped through the knight's helmed visor in the form of a wet cough before the knight fell to the ground.

The young noble did not have to relish his victory as a sudden yelp, caused him to spin on his heels to see that the other knight had finally knocked off Padfoot. He stood over the hound, and was ready to cleave the beast with his greatsword, raising the lofty weapon over his head to deliver the decapitating strike

"You stupid beast!"

Marcus in two steps used the momentum from his movement to cut the space between him with the Cousland sword and severed the knight's head from his body. A spray of blood squirted out of the wound, drenching Marcus in more blood, before he kicked the headless knight to the ground.

Padfoot got to his feet and replied to Marcus' actions with a bark that brought a smile to Marcus' lips who was just relieved to have his hound safe and by his side.

Marcus turned to see the remaining of Howe's men had been cut down, soldier and beast alike. The few guards and servants he had rallied were fighting valiantly. The men fought as if possessed, overcoming the obstacles of inferior armor and weapons and crashing upon Howe's men in waves, with the Teyrna's precise archery, they had overwhelmed Howe's soldiers, suffering little casualties in the process.

Knowing the fight wasn't over and that time was working against him. Marcus led his weary, rag-tag collection of guards and servants into the main hall of Cousland castle. It was a hectic battleground, with Highever soldiers fighting valiantly against Howe's men who were trying to breach the hall to allow more of the intruders to spread throughout the castle.

The guards and servants quickly rushed past Marcus and joined the disorganized fray of fighting between the two Ferelden families of Cousland and Howe.

He hadn't taken three steps into the room before Marcus was forced to jump aside, narrowly avoiding a bolt of lightning. He looked up to see a female mage, standing before the great doors, using her magic and skill to try to swing the momentum over to the usurpers.

"Padfoot," Marcus called for his hound, his eyes never leaving the mage, sensing his hound coming to his side he said. "The mage is ours."

Padfoot let out a bark of approval, and without waiting for orders, the large mabari hound took off towards the mage. Padfoot relied on his quickness and agility to weave in between the fighting, while still remaining out of sight from the mage who was too preoccupied with unleashing spells onto the guards and servants of Cousland castle who had arrived with Marcus and Eleanor into the Main Hall.

Marcus wanting to flank the mage, slipped through the fighting unnoticed, making his way across the hall, and began to sprint towards the mage in a parallel position of his hound. He was within steps of the mage, before she turned in his direction, a scowl present, before narrowing her eyes in his direction. She raised her staff, beginning her incantation, but Marcus was ready, raising his own shield and continued his advancing sprint towards her preparing to be hit.

Looking over his shield, Marcus watched with pride as Padfoot's large jaws clamped around the mage's arm. She screamed in pain, forcing her to drop her staff, before the hound relying on his brute strength, pulled her to the ground.

She cried and screamed, toppling onto the stone floor, her one free hand trying to fend off the hound. Padfoot sunk his teeth deeper into the mage's arm, breaking the bones in the arm as more blood began gushing from the open wounds.

Padfoot released his vice like grip from the mage's arm, before using his front paws to slash at the mage's face which had become increasingly pale due to the loss of blood. The momentum behind the slash caused her head to swing backwards, cracking against the stone floor. She was dead. Blood dripping from his jaws, Padfoot released a triumphant but vicious growl as his dark eyes glared into the corpse of the fallen mage.

"Man the gates," barked Ser Gilmore, the Highever knight trying to inject some confidence in his order, as guards and servants alike went to barricade the main hall gates. The redheaded knight's eyes widened when he noticed Marcus. "My lord!" He offered Marcus a small bow of the head. His eyes then looked further in the room to spot the Teyrna, who was cradling her bow. "Your Grace, I had feared the worst."

"We are not without casualties," Marcus admitted, sheathing his sword. The images of Oren and Oriana's broken bodies and pools of blood seeped into the forefront of his mind.

Ser Gilmore must have guessed who Marcus was referring to, noticing that there was no appearance of the two, but thankfully made no direct comment, he instead lowered his head. "May the Maker keep them."

Marcus shook his head, unsure how Roderick could still believe in the Maker after all this chaos and death. How could Marcus pray or support the Maker who in his divine will had allowed Oren and Oriana to be killed.

"Roderick have you seen the Teyrn?"

"Yes, he was looking for you," Gilmore sighed. "He was badly injured."

"Where is he?" Marcus asked.

"He said he was going to the Larder."

"Of course, the secret passage," Eleanor murmured, before her blue eyes turned to Marcus. "Come, darling, we need to go."

Marcus however, remained rooted in his position, his blue eyes taking in the appearance of his rejuvenated mother whose battle maiden persona brimmed with hope of a possible safe reunion with her love. He then turned to the tired Ser Gilmore, whose usual spotless armor was drenched in blood, the Highever knight's face flushed and hair disheveled due to the recent and costly fighting.

His eyes followed to the other Highever soldiers, guards, and servants who were standing around the newly blockaded Main hall door. Each one of their faces was betraying the fear and exhaustion that each and every one of them was suffering from through this nightmarish ordeal.

The doors began to rumble. "You must go, Lord Cousland," urged Ser Gilmore. "We will stay, and slay any soldier who dares to pass."

The Teyrna stepped forward towards the Highever knight, her hand falling on his shoulder, meeting the younger man's eyes before speaking. "May the Maker keep you, Ser Gilmore."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Ser Gilmore bowed his head, respectably, before adding with barely restrained urgency. "But you need to go, now,"

Eleanor was already moving to the door with Padfoot at her heels, but Marcus remained where he stood. His attention remaining on the men who would not be coming with them, these were soldiers, guards, knights, and servants who were sacrificing their lives in trying to save his. They were willing to make a last stand against Howe's treacherous onslaught while Marcus was expected to flee.

This was because of who his parents were, because of his pedigree, his family, his status, and blood. And now he was expected to leave these loyal and brave men and women who had been serving his family for years if not decades. They were willing to lay down their lives in the service of Highever and in protection of the Cousland family.

"Darling, we must hurry."

His mother's plea, interrupted his musings, her words had brought the attention of all in the room to his position. He turned to those who he was leaving behind, noticing their weary, flushed faces, sagging shoulders, heavy arms. They were all exhausted, beyond their breaking point and relying on adrenaline to fight on fumes to stave off Howe's men.

He couldn't just leave them, with their lasting images of the Cousland family being of them fleeing the smoldering ruins of the Main hall at Cousland castle. If they were to die for the Cousland family, the least Marcus could do was honor their sacrifices, and address their bravery.

He cleared his throat, realizing that time was of the essence. "You-you-re sacrifices will not be in vain…" He licked his lips, trying to squash his own nervousness and pushing down at his own fear and anxiety wanting his voice to project confidence.

"Howe made a mistake this day believing his forces would easily take Cousland Castle. He under-estimated your loyalty, and bravery! He believed his seditious soldiers could vanquish the stalwart of those who took service to protect Highever and the Cousland family."

Marcus paused, breathing a sigh of relief for not having muddled the words so far, he looked up unsure if his words had made any impact or to see if he was wasting his breath. His eyes first met with Ser Gilmore who gave him a crisp nod, supporting his words and taking them to heart. Marcus then drifted to the others to see he had their attention, all of whom waiting for him to continue.

"But I knew that the best of men and women could be found within these very walls! I stand before you now in your debt, as a Cousland. I will not forget the sacrifices and loyalty that have inspired me this day! Your families will know that you died heroes of Highever! Your names and sacrifices will not perish within the annals of Howe's sedition. All of Ferelden will be made aware that the Cousland family will be forever in debt to your courage!"

He then stepped forward towards the men and women he was leaving behind, offering them the only other thing he could give them besides his promise, his respect. Bowing his head and placing his arms on his chest plate he saluted them in the same way they did to him and his family each time they came within their presence. He was now the one saluting and bowing to them, looking up from his deep bow and salute, his actions seemed to have caused an effect, the servants and guards looking at him with slack jaw expressions and disbelief in their eyes at the simple but powerful act he had done before them.

"Your families will want for nothing! You have my promise."

Marcus looked up when he finished, hopeful but anxious in wanting his words to have successfully stirred within the hearts and spirits of the defenders of the Cousland castle. His words had worked, he could see new life on the faces of these men and women who had been invigorated by his speech, they stood straighter , gripping their weapons in a new firm determination.

They raised their weapons in salute of him. "To Highever!" They chorused. "For the Couslands!" They continued their fervent chant, beating their swords against their shields as their voices became louder in unison long after they had left…

* * *

><p>Marcus was running. His feet were dragging, feeling as if they were bound in heavy iron shackles, and small bursts of pain arose in his chest after every few steps, but still he ran. His focus was not on the pain, or the blazing chaos that had torn through his home within Cousland castle. He needed to get to his father, saving his father from this attack, and hopefully slip out of the noose that Rendon Howe had tried to place around the Cousland family.<p>

In order for him, his mother, and hound to run through the corridors of the Castle unopposed by Howe's men. The last remnants of soldiers, guards, and servants of Cousland castle stayed behind in effort to save the Teyrn's family. Marcus had tried to bolster his courage with a quick speech that he had come up with on the spot. His words and emotions that constructed his speech was inspired by the willing sacrifice those men and women were making in the effort to try to save his family.

In another time, Marcus may have been proud of his words. Just like in another time he would have been proud of his ability to cut through so many of Howe's men. He was not the most skilled soldier, and even in his scuffle with the intruders, he relied heavily on Padfoot and his mother to assist him. Nonetheless he would have also been proud of successfully rallying so many guards and servants to the castle's defense. He had tried to salvage dire situation, by momentarily injecting confidence in the guards and servants who had been disorganized and fleeing in hopes of escaping the chaos.

So often during his youth Marcus would run along these very corridors, him and Fergus pretending to slay dragons and fight whole armies, but in those stories the Couslands always prevailed. This final time, Marcus was afraid instead of prevailing, the Couslands may very well perish this night.

He squashed that last, terrible realization when he entered the kitchen. Looking around to see that Nan and none of the other servants could be found. No doubt they had either been killed in their sleep or they perished in trying to flee from Howe's intrusion. It was when he scanned the room did he notice a trail of blood which smeared against the stone floor leading in the direction of the Larder.

An icy chill went through his insides at seeing so much blood along the floor, remembering what Roderick had told him, he knew it to be his father. He was quick to run across the kitchen careful in not stepping in the blood trail; he pushed open the Larder door with his foot and went inside.

His heart sank at what he saw. Propping himself up against the wall, in a growing pool of his own blood was his father. His face paling due to the loss of so much blood, his fingers trembling as they tried to apply pressure to the stomach wound, but blood continued to seep through.

Bryce Cousland was one of the most respected and powerful men in all of Ferelden, he was the Teyrn of Highever, and now he had been forced to crawl on all fours like a wounded beast, taking shelter from his own friend's treason by hiding in the kitchen.

Growing up, Marcus had thought his father invincible. He had always seen his father as the strong, charming, intelligent, and charismatic nobleman. He was a man who gave aide and advice to all walks of man, whether they be of royalty, nobility or even the working class. He strived in helping all those he could.

Marcus remembered the stories of his father from the Rebellion, a fierce fighter who shed blood and sweat in making Ferelden free from Orlesian occupation. To see his father so wounded, laying in a pool of his own blood, it was a difficult and terrifying sight for him to grasp.

"Pup," Bryce winced, his brown eyes looking to meet Marcus blue eyes who had been surveying his father's mangled and broken body. "Thank the Maker you came."

"Bryce!" Eleanor Cousland stepped into the room, discarding her bow as she came to the side of her husband, uncaring that she knelt in the pool of her love. She was quick to put her hands over his which had been trying to apply pressure to his gashing wound.

"Howe… Tried to do me right there!" Bryce gasped, looking and sounding as if each word he uttered brought excruciating amount of pain.

"Oh Bryce," Eleanor said softly, fresh tears streaming from her blue eyes. "They killed Oriana and Oren. They look to spare none of us!"

Bryce bowed his head, at the news of the death of his grandson and daughter-in-law. "It seems Howe wishes to eliminate us all and take claim of Highever."

Marcus was astonished by how calmly his father seemed to be taking the sedition of one of his oldest friends. "He can't do this!" Marcus' words caught his father's interest as his brown eyes went to meet Marcus' and it was in that gaze that he saw the true anger his father held for Howe, but unlike Marcus, his father was not allowing his anger to control or consume him.

The anger was shimmering beneath the surface of his brown eyes, contained and controlled and when he spoke, there was a cold edge in his voice. "No, son, he will not succeed."

"Come Bryce, we must go," Eleanor urged her husband.

The pain returned to Bryce's features, wincing, he shook his head. "No, I don't think I can live through the standing."

"Don't talk like that," Eleanor chided him, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks.

Marcus stepped forward; coming to his father's other side. He blinked away fresh tears, "then I'll carry you." He could see his mother nodding from the corner of his eye.

"Yes, he can." She agreed, latching onto any hope that they could still save him. "We can get you to the mages, with their healing magic you will be right as rain in no time."

"No," Bryce winced, taking a sharp, painful breath. "Not this time, Ellie."

His father didn't have to say it, because Marcus knew what he was suggesting and to him it wasn't an option. "I'm not going to leave you!" he shouted.

A fourth, accented voice punctured the intimate family conversation. "It seems our choices are dwindling." The Commander of the Grey, Duncan stepped into the larder, his silverite armor and swords shimmered in blood. "Howe's men surround the castle; it will only be a matter of time before their full forces enter. They will find us."

Marcus noticed the look his father was giving Duncan; he looked at the Grey Warden as if he was looking at the Maker himself in human form. It was unsettling and immediately sent off warning bells in his head.

"Duncan," pleaded Bryce. "You have no obligation to me, but I beg of you to take my wife and son to safety."

The Grey Warden stepped forward, before bowing his head and lofting a sigh. "I will Your Grace, but I am afraid I must ask for something in return. What is happening here pales in comparison to what is happening down south. I came here in need of a recruit. My order demands I leave with one."

Marcus noticed the shared silent look between his father and mother, before his father returned his attention on Duncan. "Then you have my permission."

"NO!" Marcus shouted, cursing this damn Grey Warden who was taking advantage of his father's position in a way to exploit a recruit. "I refuse!" He wasn't a soldier. This wasn't the life he wanted. Damn the darkspawn! Damn the Blight! He wanted Howe's head on a pike!

"Damn your Grey Wardens! I want Howe dead!"

"Darling, please," her voice was soft, and motherly. "Your duty is to protect Ferelden."

His father added. "It has been our family's duty for centuries."

Marcus shook his head, before waving his arms in front of him, unsure how clearer he could make his opinion known. "No, I refuse to join your Order."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," Duncan observed.

Marcus spun around to face the Warden, who had the sense to look somewhat ashamed at what he was doing to Marcus and his family. It was the Warden's next words that took the wind out of Marcus' argument and refusal.

"We have the right to conscript."

Marcus balled his gauntleted fingers into fists, realizing that he was now practically stuck with the Wardens. He didn't need Duncan to save him. They were already at the secret passageway! This couldn't be happening, this wasn't fair. Even after all he had lost this night, it seemed his freedom too would be taken from him as was his right of choice.

He desperately looked down at his mother and father, unable to believe they would so willingly allow this Warden to take their son away. It was only hours ago that Bryce had refused the topic of his son joining the wardens to even be broached and now his father was willingly signing him over.

"What of Howe!"

"Darling," the soothing voice of his mother caused to Marcus to take a deep breath and push down his boiling anger. His blue eyes turned to his mother's blue eyes in which he inherited; he could see the hope and love in her eyes for him as she spoke. "You can get your vengeance, my darling, but first you must live."

A loud crash could be heard from further down the corridor, signaling Howe's men had gotten out of the main hall and even though there was still fighting, Howe's men were getting closer to them.

Duncan was already moving towards the secret passage. "We must leave, now."

Marcus made no such attempt, a cold, suffocating numb feeling swelling from his insides, at what Duncan was expecting of him. Even with this damned agreement, he wouldn't just leave his father to die on the floor of the larder.

"What about father?"

"No, son," Bryce answered, softly, accompanied with another painful wince. "I will only slow you down."

"I won't leave without you!" Marcus argued; fuck the Grey Wardens, and their damn Conscription.

"No, Marcus," his father cut in with a strong tone. "You must go." His face softened when their eyes met, bringing his hand to Marcus' shoulder, both Cousland men had tears trailing down their cheeks.

"Oh my son," he said softly, "you will do great things, Marcus." His eyes were watering and his smile was fading. "You'll make us all proud, Pup."

Marcus was biting down on his lower lip, trying to contain his own growing sobs. His body was shaking, wracked by the emotional turmoil he had been faced with in these last hours. He had lost his nephew, his sister, his home, and now he was forced to lose his father…

Bryce raised his other blood stained hand, holding it out for Marcus, noticing that his father was holding something. His father's fingers still trembling opened his hand to reveal the Cousland signet ring. It was to be worn by the Teyrn of Highever. It was the official seal of both Highever and the Cousland family.

Marcus closed his hands around the ring, by still holding onto his father's bloody hand when he choked out. "I'm so sorry, father."

"You have done nothing wrong, son." Bryce corrected him. "This is Howe's doing. Seek vengeance on him. Make sure the King is told about this treachery."

"I will father," Marcus pocketed the signet ring.

"I know you will, son," he assured his son. "It does me honor and pride to know that even with my departure, I am leaving the best of me and your mother behind in you."

Marcus bent over his father, kissing his father's brow, before standing up, taking some strength and comfort in his father's last words.

"We must hurry."

"Go with Duncan, Marcus."

Marcus was stunned by his mother's order. Knowing perfectly well what she meant for him to carry out by it. He could hardly say his farewell to his own wounded father, and now she was expecting him to just abandon his healthy mother to Howe's thugs?

"Eleanor, no-"

"Hush Bryce," she interrupted him. "I will kill any bastard who tries to get in."

"Mother," Marcus begged, his voice cracking at his plea, he couldn't lose her too. He wouldn't allow her to throw her life away to take this foolish stand.

She got to her feet, approaching him, tears shimmering in her blue eyes before her hands cupped his cheeks. "My little boy," she said a smile on her lips as she surveyed him closely, before her eyes returned to his eyes. "You have become such a strong, capable young man." She kissed his forehead.

Marcus felt a lingering warmth of where his mother's lips kissed his brow. The warmth was a soothing balm to the cold, shivering pain that swelled within him.

"Please," he croaked, "Don't leave me."

"Darling," She soothingly said, her fingers caressing his cheek in the manner she used to do when he was younger. "Your father and I will never truly leave you."

Her eyes looked past Marcus and he was sure she was looking at Duncan, in which she gave him a nod. Instantly Marcus felt a strong grip on his shoulder, wrenching him away from his mother's soothing presence. The fierce pull almost knocking him off of his feet.

"Go, my darling, my place is at your father's side."

"NO!" shouted Marcus, trying to fight off Duncan's grip as the Warden as pulling him into the secret passage. He was being dragged into the secret passage, the more he desperately fought to free himself, the stronger the grip on his shoulders became. The last thing Marcus saw of his mother, was her notching an arrow to her bow, and saying.

"We lived a good life."

Then darkness, as the immovable door of the secret passageway closed shut, losing the light of the larder, but Marcus still fought. He swung his arms in front of him, trying to free himself as he shouted, screamed, and yelled until his throat burned.

"Be still, Marcus," Duncan warned, though his voice sounding flustered, no doubt, the Warden's effort in holding onto Marcus were taking hold. "Or your parent's sacrifice will be for naught."

Whether it was because of the Warden's words or his body's total exhaustion, Marcus stopped in his protests. His feet following Duncan's footsteps, and in the cold, dark silence Marcus was forced to confront what had just happened to him.

There was no turning back for Marcus Cousland. He had abandoned his parents to Howe's treachery. He had failed them. He had lost his brother's family.

In the blink of an eye Marcus Cousland was now an orphan. He was now a Grey Warden.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I had originally intended to kill Iona during the attack on Highever, however, review feedback caused me to rethink my decision and in the end I decided to spare her. I'm already working on weaving her into the story, and think she can only strengthen the story arc, I'm including her in. Just another reason to review. **

**So I replaced the Iona scene which I had originally intended to use to start this chapter, with the Oren scenes of uncle-nephew bonding before the castle is under siege. So hopefully you guys enjoyed the replacement. **

**Don't forget to review, to let me know what you think.**

**Until next time,**

**-Spectre4hire**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to PastaSentient, Mike3207 (2), Janizary, borismortys, and Paragon of Awesomeness for your encouraging reviews of the last chapter. **

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><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Seven**

**Location: Imperial Highway, Ferelden**

"We'll make camp here, tonight."

Marcus only nodded to the man who had conscripted him to the Wardens. He didn't trust his voice or tone to give the man anything short of a string of curses. He tossed his bedroll on the opposite side of Duncan, knowing that their campfire would separate him from the Grey Warden.

He really had no interest to strike up any sort of conversation with the Ferelden Commander of the Grey Wardens. Three days had passed since Duncan had conscripted him to the Wardens, forcing him to flee his home, to abandon his parents to die. To Marcus, his life was forfeit now.

His nights following the attack had not been a place for him to rest. There was no peaceful sleep for Marcus Cousland. In the nights after the sacking of Cousland Castle, his dreams consisted only of the haunting images of those he left to die.

After spreading out his bedroll, he punched his pillow in frustration at the reminder of those damn dreams. His memories of Oren and Oriana had been all but replaced with the images of their mangled corpses from that fateful night. No longer could he see a smiling, mischievous young Oren or a knowing look from Oriana, with a kind twinkle in her dark eyes. Instead he was bombarded with the images of their broken bodies lying in pools of their own blood on the dusty floors of their rooms.

He had tried to call upon happier memories of himself with his parents, and his brother's family. He desperately sought some sort of soothing memory to ache his grieving heart. But it was good memories never surfaced. Instead he was forced to suffer with the images of that night. These memories had become a like poison spreading through his veins. It had gotten so bad that the mere mention or reminder of those he lost that night would bring him a great amount of pain and torment that it left him contemplating the growing temptation of simply ending the pain altogether…

Padfoot nudged his shoulder, breaking him from his reverie. Marcus looked down at his beloved mabari war-hound, who had yet to leave his side. He tried to smile down at the dog, but he didn't have the strength or the will. He settled for petting Padfoot behind the ear while the mabari settled down beside the bedroll and his master.

"You look tired," observed the soft spoken Warden.

"I'll be fine," was Marcus' curt reply.

"You should get some rest," Duncan suggested. "Don't worry; I'll wake you when dinner is ready."

_Wouldn't want your prized warden to die of exhaustion would you?_ Marcus inwardly scathed. _Wouldn't be much use to you then, would I?_

Instead of repeating his glowering thoughts, he responded with a stiff nod, quickly turning his back on the Warden Commander. Marcus crawled into his bedroll, able to feel Padfoot adjusting himself at his feet, with the hound resting his head on Marcus' leg. Marcus stretched his hand out from the bedroll to give his hound a quick pat on the head before closing his eyes and praying to the Maker and to Andraste to supply him with a peaceful rest…

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><p><em>Marcus walked quietly down the familiar corridors of Cousland Castle. "Hello?"<em>

_There was no response, save for the echo from his own word. Torches were dimmed, barely illuminating the way in front of the young man. There were no guards, who could usually be seen patrolling these corridors, neither were there servants who could be seen busying about, dusting and cleaning, or bustling through with a pile of linen or laundry._

_He tried to remain calm while he turned the corner, but he nearly tripped over his feet from stopping so suddenly at what he saw in front of him. He had to throw up his arms to keep his balance, falling into almost a crouch to keep himself on his feet, and when he raised his head, he became eye level with Oren._

_His young nephew of seven years old silently stood in the corridor. Marcus was quick to notice that Oren was more a spirit then corporeal. The boy's body had an ethereal glow. His eyes were also quick to notice the sword that was pinned in his nephew's chest. The sight of the sword brought with it, a painful barrage of images from the battle at Cousland Castle, forced to remember Howe's treachery in the Arl's attempt to exterminate the Cousland line._

_"Oren?"_

_The shade of his nephew tilted his head. "Why did you abandon me, Uncle?" His voice was a hollow echo that bounced off the stone corridor walls. It made the hair on the back of Marcus' neck and arms to stand on end._

_Marcus shook his head. "I didn't, I…I."_

_"I thought you would come," the spirit of his nephew said. "I thought you would come and save me."_

_Marcus blinked back tears. "I tried. I did."_

_"I cried your name when they came," the spirit explained, his voice eerily calm, sounding more mature then any young boy should. "They drew their swords, and I cried and I cried your name, hoping you would burst through and save me."_

_"But you didn't," he stated, his voice trembling in fear. "They beat me, laughing at my tears, broke my arms and legs, as I shouted for my mother and father."_

_"STOP!" Marcus shouted, bringing his hands to cover his ears, falling from his crouching position to his knees on the cold stone floors. Fresh images of his nephew's beating seeped into his mind, grabbing hold of his attention and refused to let go._

"_I'm sorry," Marcus cried his breaths heavy and haggard from the sobs. "I'm so sorry, Oren." _

"_Sorry, won't bring me back, Uncle." The image of his seven year nephew disappeared. _

"_OREN!" Marcus called, looking around drastically for any sign or sight of his nephew, but all he could see was darkness, and the fresh puddle of tears on the stone floor beneath him._

"_He won't come back."_

_Marcus looked up at the familiar voice of his sister-in-law. Just like Oren before him, Oriana was a spirit, surrounded by a glow. Her dress was torn, and ripped at the sleeves, collar, and hem. A sword stuck out below her chest._

"_You failed us, Marcus." _

_Marcus was startled when he saw her eyes. Dark eyes that usually gleamed with love and kindness now shimmered with hate and anger. _

"_You couldn't protect us. Fergus trusted you and you failed him!"_

_Marcus could feel more tears coming down his cheeks, while a cold, suffocating grip constricted itself around his heart, filling his insides with an icy chill._

"_You lost me my life, my family, my son," Oriana continued, pointing an accusing finger at him. _

"_I…I," Marcus' rebuttal sputtered. He couldn't summon any words worthy to use in defense of her truthful accusations. He bowed his head in defeat and grief, not wanting to meet those cold eyes of his sister-in-law._

"_Fergus and I were to have a life together! Watch Oren grow to raise his own family." Her voice cracked in anguish. "All of that lost because of you! You failed us, you don't deserve to live. You can't lead because you will fail. More blood will be spilt because of your shortcomings, Marcus."_

_Marcus' hands found the cold stone floor, bracing himself from falling, with his arms and legs trembling. A cold chill continued to swirl through his insides. His head bowed as if he was submitting his body to the spirit of his sister for judgment…_

"_You left me, Marcus."_

_No, not her, not her, this mantra repeated itself in his mind at the sound of the new voice. He remained on all fours, his head bowed, not wanting to look up at the new accuser. "I tried."_

"_No, you left me!" the harsh cold voice of his mother, hit him like a shield bash to the stomach. "You fled with the Grey Warden to save yourself."_

_Eleanor Cousland was in the form of a shade like Oriana and Oren before her. Her form had an ethereal hue to it. This shade was wearing the leathers that she wore during the battle at Cousland Castle, but the leathers around her hips and chest had been ripped and torn, looking as if she had been ravaged. _

"_They came at me," she stated, pain laced her tone, as she relived the horrors of that night. "Howe's men pawed at me, making Bryce watch, they kept him alive just so that he could watch!"_

"_I wanted to stay," Marcus argued, half-heartedly. "But he dragged me away." _

"_You should have fought harder. I thought you loved me."_

"_I did," Marcus hastily replied, his fingers trembling on the stone corridor, his arms continuing to shake. "I do love you, I wanted to save you!" _

"_But you didn't," she cut-in firmly. "You allowed me to be raped and killed." _

_Marcus shook his head, not bothering to brush back his dark bangs of hair that fell over his watery eyes. "I didn't want any of this!" choking back a sob as he spoke. _

"_You could have prevented this."_

"_You…you're right," he said weakly, knowing the truth in his mother's declaration. "Just… just leave me." He protested weakly, knowing he was in the realm of dreams. He knew he was at the mercy of spirits, but the anguish was real, because there was truth in the words of these spirits. _

"_We died for you," chanted an eerily chorus of voices._

_Against his better judgment, Marcus looked up to see himself surrounded by the spirits of the guards and servants who perished in the attack._

"_We were left behind because of your status, your blood," they chorused. "We left behind husbands and wives, sons and daughters."_

_The truth in their declaration caused him to inwardly cringe. He knew that his life had only been saved because of his heritage, his blood line. _

"_Why should we die? Why were we forced to die for your family, when no one will look after ours?"_

"_I don't know," Marcus croaked his voice raw. His will to argue was diminishing, drowning in the growing grief of his failed actions at his family's home. Of all those he failed, of all those who died because of him. _

"_Be gone spirits." _

"_We are gone," answered Oriana, reappearing in front of the servants and guards who had circled Marcus. _

"_Gone forever," added Oren, reappearing in front of his mother. _

"_We are lost to you," Eleanor Cousland finished, appearing on Oriana's side. _

"_Because of you," they choired. _

"Marcus!"

_The images of Oriana, Oren, and Eleanor dissipated, as did the images of the guards and servants, their glows going out like a candle being snuffed. The stone walls of the castle were melting, succumbing to darkness and winking white lights…_

* * *

><p>Marcus blinked, looking up at the dark eyes of Duncan. The Grey Warden Commander was crouching down beside his bedroll, his body illuminated from the crackling fire that was behind him. Padfoot was lying at his feet, looking up at his master with curious black eyes. Marcus immediately shifted himself away from the Grey Warden, sliding out of his bedroll, and backpedaling on his hands.<p>

"Get away from me!" he shouted to the Warden who supposedly saved his life. There was no gratefulness in his heart for Duncan's actions, only anger, resentment which bubbled up inside of him. The fresh memories and images from his nightmare did nothing but stroke the growing fire of anger within him.

"You were dreaming," Duncan said sympathetically, who was un-phased by Marcus' outburst.

Marcus shook his head. He may have been dreaming, but the world he awoke to was just as bad as the nightmare he left behind. He choked back a sob, at the images of his family within his dream that were still so vivid.

"Why did you save me!" he shouted.

Duncan frowned, standing up from his crouching position, but his dark eyes never left Marcus.

"You should have left me to die!" Marcus continued to shout. At least then would he be free of this pain. At least then, he wouldn't be haunted by the memories of those he betrayed. He would be with his family. He would be free.

He let loose a haggard breath, wiping at the tears that began to trickle down his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. "I…I just should have… died."

"I couldn't do that." The Grey Warden sighed. "You must understand that the evil at Highever pales in comparison to the true evil of the Blight."

"Damn your fucking Blight!" Marcus shouted, his grief momentarily replaced by rage. "I'm not a warrior!"

"Your skills during the attack say differently," countered Duncan, his voice firm, but sincere.

His rage began to deflate, but Marcus refused to acknowledge the Warden's observation. "That was…different. I had help from others." His eyes falling on Padfoot, who had gotten up when he yelled, the mabari war-hound came to sit beside his master.

"And what of Southron Hills?" Duncan pressed.

Marcus shook his head, trying to free himself from the haze that was settling in his mind from the anger and grief. It was making it difficult for him to think clearly. "I want Howe dead! I don't give a damn about the darkspawn! My place is at Highever, not Ostagar! I am a Cousland, not a Grey Warden."

"The darkspawn are the most dangerous threat in this world," Duncan said sympathetically. "I know the pain you feel, but you-"

Marcus didn't allow him to finish. "You don't know the pain I feel! If you did, then you wouldn't have forced me to join your damn Order!" He pushed himself off of the ground, turning his back to the Grey Warden; he stomped out of the campsite and into the neighboring forest.

He tramped through the thickets of foliage, pushing aside branches and bushes while he continued to venture deeper into the forest. His feet carrying him swiftly over the forest floor, crunching leaves and sticks under his boots. In his swift strides, his boot caught on a root, and before he could counter the awkward position, he stumbled down a small embankment, rolling through tall grass and shrubbery before the momentum waned and allowed him to stop, landing on his back.

He brushed the dark hair out of his eyes, before pushing himself off of his butt, dusting the dirt and leaves off of his pants. He looked around to see he had stopped on the edge of a small pond. In the distance he could see the glowing, ebbing red sun of dusk just peeking out from the horizon, casting the sky above him in an eerily crimson shade.

He sighed, taking a step into the pond, its water washing over his muddy boots. He crouched down, dipping his dirty hands into the cool water, scrubbing his hands together to try to rid them of the dirt and grime from his fall. After a few seconds, he pulled his hands out, to inspect them, satisfied at their now mostly clean appearance, he stood back up while he dried his hands on the front of his shirt.

He looked over his shoulder, at the embankment he fell down. He could still see the direction he came from, noticing the path he had swathed his way through. He was hopeful that he could just follow it back to the campsite, and back to Duncan. The Grey Warden may have saved his life, but he had also condemned Marcus' life, forcing him down a path he didn't want to follow.

Marcus returned his attention to the pond, casting a glance at his own reflection staring back up at him. He noticed the bags under his eyes due to his lack of sleep. The tracks of tears down his cheeks from his painful sobbing upon waking from his nightmare, the dirt that was nestled in his dark beard and hair from his earlier fall. This was not the youthful, healthy confident nobleman that he was used to seeing. He looked tired and sickly.

Frustrated at what he saw, he scooped up a handful of pebbles from the ground and tossed them into the pond. The ensuing ripples distorted his image before momentarily erasing it all together as the ripples expanded in all directions for several seconds. When the pond's surface finally reverted back to its glassy surface, it was not his reflection that was looking at.

It was his father's.

Startled, Marcus backed away from the image of his father. He rubbed at his eyes, knowing that his lack of sleep was probably the reason for seeing his father's reflection. Believing to have sorted himself out, he neared closer to the pond to investigate the reflection. It was no longer his father. The reflection had returned back to his image.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, picking out a few small pieces of leaves while he did. He left the pond, not wanting to dwell on the image of his father that he was sure had just appeared before him. No matter how brief it had been, it was another heartbreaking reminder of what he had left behind not just at his home, but the dreams he so desperately tried to escape. Nightmares that made him relive those horrible excruciating moments of his life.

He made it halfway up the path, before stopping, since he still had no strong desire to return the campsite. He settled himself at the trunk of a giant oak tree. Resting his head against the tree, he looked up through the branches to see the first stars began to surface from the dark canvas of sky above. His eyes may have been on the stars, but his attention remained on what had happened to him in the days prior.

_How did this happen? How could his life change so dramatically in a course of a few hours and even the course of a few minutes? How could the Maker in his infinite wisdom allow Howe to advance himself through this sedition? Why was Howe's greed rewarded while Marcus lost everything he knew and loved? How with Andraste and her sacrifice could Oren be allowed to die? _

These were just some of the thoughts swirling with Marcus' mind. The young Cousland desperately tried and needed to find some sort of logic or reason to explain what had happened to his family and his life. But all he could summon were more questions, and no answers.

"Damn them!" he shouted up to the stars. "Damn the Maker! Damn Andraste!" He yelled to the heavens, wanting 'God' and his precious bride to hear him. He wanted them to know his anger. He didn't care how blasphemous he sounded. To him nothing he said strayed from the truth. He meant every word of it.

Bowing his head, he withdrew a dagger from his boot. He held the weapon tentatively in his hands; the blade shimmered when it caught the light of the stars. His fingers gingerly ran along the handle of the knife, before he traced his forefinger along the side of the knife's blade.

He could end the pain. In one swift moment, he could stop the memories. He could quell the guilt and heartache. He squeezed the handle, before positioning the blade to his chest, the tip poking at his flesh below his collarbone. With one thrust, he would be free. He could be reunited with his parents. Never again would he be forced to remember how he let down those he loved.

It was tempting. It would be so easy. All it took was just one thrust….

He hesitated. He nervously licked his lips, while his blue eyes looked down at the dagger. His fingers were becoming slick with sweat. He began to put pressure on the blade. He winced when he felt the prick of the blade against his flesh. It drew blood. The crimson droplets dribbled down his chest, leaving a warm trickling feeling in its wake.

He took a deep breath, knowing if he pushed a little more, it would all end. He quietly stared down his dagger…. He couldn't go through with it. He lowered the blade away from him, uttering a string of silent curses. He was too much of a coward.

He sighed, feeling warm tears stinging the corner of his eyes. He furiously wiped at them with the back of his hand. He brushed away the faint trail of blood that had gone down his chest with his thumb.

-CRACK-

His head shot up at the sound of the twig snap, his dagger was raised, pointing the blade out into the darkness of the forest that surrounded him. He nearly yelped when watched Duncan suddenly emerge out of the shadows of two tall oak trees. It was an eerie sight for the Cousland son, to see the Warden clad in silverite armor appear from out of nowhere. He lowered the dagger.

"How long were you there?" demanded Marcus, trying to mask his shame and embarrassment by his clipped tone.

"Long enough," was the Warden Commander's cryptic reply.

A whine from Duncan's side brought his eyes on his faithful war-hound, Padfoot. The massive dog immediately bounded over to him, nudging Marcus' shoulder when he arrived with his bulky head before licking Marcus' cheeks. He couldn't hide the smile that came to his lips. It was his first smile in days, seeing that the hound had made himself comfortable, by pressing itself against his side before resting his head on his lap. Marcus relented and began to gently scratch Padfoot behind the ears.

Marcus kept his attention on Padfoot. He was too embarrassed and ashamed to meet Duncan's gaze; knowing the Warden had probably just witnessed his pitiful contemplation and attempt at suicide.

"Some Grey Warden I'd be."

Duncan tilted his head, examining Marcus as if he was on display at some shop clerk's window. "I think you'd be an excellent addition to the Order."

Marcus snorted, gesturing to the dagger that he had discarded on the ground when Padfoot approached. "I am a coward!"

"A coward?" repeated Duncan with bemusement. "A coward wouldn't be able to rally servants and guards in a hopeless situation. He wouldn't be able to instill strength and bravery into the hearts of doomed men."

"No, Marcus you are no coward." Duncan took a few steps closer to the nobleman and hound. "You are a fine leader, who is not only what the Order needs, but what Ferelden needs as well."

"A leader?" repeated Marcus in disbelief. "Have you not seen the many men I have condemned to death because of leadership?" He was referring to the legion at Southron Hills, as well as those within the castle, all of whom had perished because of his supposed 'leadership.'

"A leader is not invincible, Marcus," Duncan observed. "A leader confronts his mistakes and vows to do better. To make amends so that next time, they will succeed." Duncan crouched down in front of Marcus, becoming eye level with the Warden recruit.

"And you have the makings of a great leader."

Marcus opened his mouth to respond, only to close it, his mind mulling over not only the Warden's words but the implications of them. Duncan's vote of confidence brought a surprising amount of comfort to the still grieving nobleman.

"I never would have conscripted you, if I didn't think so," Duncan finished, standing back up, and offering his hand to Marcus.

"I see," Marcus said carefully, not knowing what else was appropriate to say. He felt uncomfortable and embarrassed about his previous outburst, but he still felt annoyed and anger targeted at the Warden Commander for what happened at Highever. He looked up at the offered hand before taking it, as Duncan helped pull Marcus back to his feet, with Padfoot following his master's example to stand up.

"You are forgetting something important."

He looked at the Grey Warden, "which is?"

Duncan gestured him to follow, which Marcus did as the two began walking back towards their campsite with Padfoot following behind Marcus. "Howe made a serious blunder."

_I have another word for it, _Marcus inwardly replied at how he would label Howe's actions at Highever, but knew this was not the proper time. "What's the blunder?"

"Our survival."

Marcus quirked his brow, not sure what the Warden was referring to, since Duncan had repeatedly stamped out Marcus' ideas and attempts of planning his revenge on Howe.

Duncan didn't explain his previous statement until they were back at camp. The Warden sat down on his bedroll, his dark eyes on the fire. "If we had not survived, Howe could have told the King anything he wanted."

Marcus collapsed onto his own comfortable bedroll, with Padfoot nestling beside him. His eyes widened when he realized what Duncan was referring to. He cursed his own shortsightedness for not seeing this advantage earlier.

"And Cailan would have believed it!"

Duncan nodded, "Yes, but now we can tell the King the truth about what happened at Highever when we reach Ostagar."

"And he would see to it, to punish Howe!"

"Yes, Howe would be punished," agreed Duncan. "Only after the darkspawn threat has been resolved."

Marcus resisted the urge to frown at Duncan's continued insistence of the darkspawn. At the mention of Ostagar, an appealing reminder came to Marcus' attention. The armies of Highever had left with his brother…If he could reach them, and spread the news of Howe's treachery, there would be hope that they could retake Highever after Ostagar. He could only smirk in satisfaction at the images he conjured of them successfully retaking Highever. But he wouldn't stop there, he would march on the Keep and Amaranthine if he had to deliver justice onto Howe. There would be no trial for Howe. No Landsmeet deliberation or tribunal for Howe. Marcus would be Howe's judge, jury, and executioner.

The thought of butchering a begging Howe only made his smirk grow. He then was reminded of the fatal flaw in his plan, his brother's fate. He was sure Howe being the snake that he was had already tried if not succeeded in killing his brother, Fergus…

Marcus bit back a sob at the thought of his brother being killed by Howe's men en route to Ostagar or by Howe's spies at Ostagar. He instead tried to push back the memory, not wanting to give up hope of his brother's fate, but he needed to prepare himself for the ill news of his brother's death which meant, he had to plan for the Teyrnir of Highever…

"What of Highever?"

Duncan sighed at his question, and Marcus did not take this as a good sign. The Warden Commander picked up a stick to gently poke at the logs of the burning flames. The fire hissed, while embers and sparks floated upwards into the sky.

"I'm afraid you will not be able to go back as long as the Blight remains. You must understand Marcus, as a Grey Warden, our first and only priority is the darkspawn."

His hope deflated slightly at Duncan's disappointing answer. "But I am not just a Grey Warden, I am a Cousland."

Duncan shook his head, sadness shimmering in his dark eyes. "When you become a Grey Warden you shed your old identity, you leave your old life."

Marcus blinked. He was just becoming more comfortable and appreciative of Duncan, but this revelation sent Marcus reeling. _How was he supposed to just let go of his old life? How was he supposed to just ignore Highever?_ _What about his duties as the last remaining Cousland?_ His family had been around since the time of Calenhad. Was the Cousland name supposed to perish in the annals of history because of the Grey Wardens and their rules?

Marcus didn't like this one bit. He was a Cousland. He knew his family name and legacy would always mean more to him then the Wardens and their Order.

"I don't know if I can do that," he replied honestly, keeping his eyes on the burning embers of the fire.

"A Grey Warden isn't a title, Marcus, that you outgrow and can shed," Duncan remarked softly. "It's a life-long commitment."

Marcus glowered at the orange flames from the fire, not caring if Duncan saw his dour expression or not. "What if the Blight ended?"

"Pardon?" asked Duncan.

"The Blight, this darkspawn threat whatever you want to call if. What if it ended?" Marcus suggested. "My duty would be done. Ferelden would be free from the incursion."

Duncan frowned, his dark eyes studying Marcus before letting out a tired sigh. He looked to be struggling from his own internal debate before speaking. "It is not unheard of for a Grey Warden to bear a title, but it is a rare exception."

Hope began to kindle within Marcus Cousland. He looked up over the fire at Duncan, to see the Warden's stoic expression looking back at him. "Then if we were to end the threat at Ostagar, I could return to Highever? I could seek vengeance on Howe?" He brightened up with his own words, finding strength and comfort at the growing possibility.

Duncan ran a hand through his dark beard. "It is not that simple, Marcus."

Marcus frowned.

"Let the King and the Court handle Howe," Duncan remarked trying to steer the conversation away. "You must let go of your old life. You must accept the role that we Grey Wardens play in this world."

"Accept?" Marcus repeated in disbelief. "I didn't want to be a Grey Warden! I don't want to be a fucking Grey Warden! I don't give a shit about your Order or the Darkspawn!"

"Your life has changed, Marcus," Duncan pointed out, his tone firm but sincere. "You must accept this. You must realize that your life cannot return to what it once was. You must adapt, or you will allow your past life and feelings to sweep you away beyond saving."

"Then I will devote everything I can to end this Blight."

Duncan raised his dark brows in surprise at his sudden declaration, but Marcus could see the Warden Commander was pleased at his bold promise. He meant the words, but he held back on his motivations. Marcus kept his desires quiet. If he were to end this darkspawn threat then perhaps he could salvage his own life, return to Highever, bring peace and prosperity back to his home. He could retire from the battlefield and return to court politics once and for all. He was confident if he returned to Highever, that the people would not allow the Grey Wardens to take him back.

He still had a chance. He could still bring Howe to justice. He could retain Highever. The only thing that stood in his way was the darkspawn. He was determined to end the darkspawn threat once and for all. Whatever it took, he would do.

In that second, he made a silent vow. His life would not end with the Grey Wardens.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to Mike3207, dominicgrim, 'guest', and Janizary for reading & reviewing. It is appreciated.****

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><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire **

**Chapter Eight**

**Location: Ostagar, Ferelden**

"Creator of the Sky, the Land, and the Sea, hear your people in our time of need."

Cauthrien readjusted her kneeling position in front of the Revered Mother. Keeping her eyes closed, the female warrior, softly added. "Maker watch over us."

"Let no man have cause to fear the shadows. Let their souls be lifted upon your return. So let it be."

She opened her eyes. "So let it be." She rose from her kneeling position, dusting off her dark pants of the dirt and grime that had coated her knees from the soggy ground. "Thank you, your Reverence."

"Go in peace, child."

Cauthrien nodded, before walking out of the Chantry camp set up at Ostagar. Sisters and other servants of the Chantry were bustling between the stone benches, all of which were filled with soldiers. Who were either praying silently or receiving a blessing, similar to the one Cauthrien had just received.

It was difficult feeling for the soldier to explain, but she felt more at peace after receiving the blessing. This calmness was a welcome feeling for the female soldier who was anxious for the coming battle. Her once fluttering heart was now soothed.

The battle that was being prepared at Ostagar was like no other battle, she had ever fought in. The size, the scope, and the importance of thwarting the darkspawn easily trumped the minor skirmishes or dust ups she had fought in previously. In those cases she only had to go up against bandits or mercenaries. Not the tainted monsters known as darkspawn.

She did have some experience in fighting them, but that experience paled in comparison to what was being prepared and invested in at Ostagar. Most of Ferelden's army had gathered here at the site of this ancient Imperium fort. This realization brought a sense of pride in the heart of the Fereldan. At this sense of unity that King Cailan had been able to muster in order to stop the darkspawn threat.

It was even rumored that King Cailan himself would personally be leading the charge against the darkspawn in the battle. The Gwaren soldier wanted to dismiss the absurdity of the King risking himself so foolishly, but, she reluctantly could not, recognizing the grain of truth in these rumored reports. King Cailan was a young man eager for battle and for glory. It was a dangerous and deadly combination. She hoped General Loghain would be able to talk some sense into him.

A sudden cold breeze swept through the army camp. Cauthrien instinctively pulled her dark colored coat closer to her body, in hopes of repelling the chill. It was cold and wet at Ostagar. This was the first day that it had not rained since she got here, four days ago. The rain had left the ground soggy, and muddy. While the skies continued to be a dull grey. Cauthrien wasn't expecting sunlight or warmth for the remainder of her time at Ostagar. And if this morning's meeting was anything to go by, then she shouldn't be expecting to be staying much longer in Ostagar.

The scouts had reported that the darkspawn would be arriving to Ostagar between dusk and nightfall. To prepare for the battle, she was having her armor and sword polished. It was not something she wanted but as an officer in His Majesty's army it was a tradition that she would have to get use to, now that she was a Lieutenant in the Gwaren army.

Cauthrien was disappointed that she had to submit her sword to the servants to be polished because it was a recent gift from His Grace, Teyrn Loghain. He had given it to her after her promotion to Lieutenant. When he presented her the sword, she was dumbstruck by the gift, because she instantly recognized it. It was the fabled _summer sword. _Its history well known throughout Ferelden as is the fate of the Chevalier who once owned it. He was killed by Loghain in the Battle of Avinash, and Loghain claimed his sword and displayed it as his trophy in both Denerim and Gwaren in the years that followed the end of Orlais' occupation.

She only accepted such a gift after the General's insistence. As soon as she took the greatsword into her hands; she knew she had never held a greater sword in her life. In only a few swings, she had become accustomed to its weight, balance, and size, making easy work of her opponents when she tested it in the sparring circles.

"Hey there, lovely."

Cauthrien turned to her side, to see a man leaning against a post. He was dressed in unremarkable looking leathers, with identical daggers sheathed on his back.

"I beg your pardon?"

He seemed to take her question as some sort of opening, since he stood up from his leaning position, a gleam in his dark eyes. "Any last wishes I can help fulfill before you head into battle?"

She recognized the man's accent to be of Denerim, but there was a slight lilting in some of his words and pronunciations that was foreign to her. His choice of words, and behavior suggested that he came from the poorer classes of the capital city of Ferelden.

"Life is fleeting, you know. That pretty face could be decorating some darkspawn spear this time tomorrow."

Cauthrien resisted her first urge which was to break this man's jaw with one punch. As an officer and a soldier she couldn't allow her emotions to control her. She pushed down her growing anger and annoyance at this man, knowing she needed to keep her officer demeanor intact.

He must have realized that his supposed invitation had fallen flat, settling instead for a chuckle while he retained that same confident grin. "Shall I take that quiet glare as a no?"

"What is your name?" she asked, cutting him off from any further pathetic attempt at trying to seduce her.

"Daveth," he answered, to her annoyance he remained both lax in posture and in attitude.

"What company are you in?" She demanded.

"I'm not in the army," he answered, before offering her a wink. "But, if they have recruits like you, I may reconsider."

She narrowed her eyes at him, taking a small sense of satisfaction as she watched his smile wilt into a thoughtful frown. "If you are not a soldier, then who are you with?"

"Duncan," he explained, with a sudden nod. "I'm one of the Grey Warden recruits."

She noticed him puff his chest slightly at the last part; no doubt, he took some pride in being a Grey Warden recruit. That probably fueled his brazen confidence in his attempt at wooing her for a quick "tumble in the hay."

Cauthrien knew that the Grey Wardens accepted anybody who posed any sort of superior skill or talent but looking at this ordinary rogue, it was difficult for her to spot his.

He must have noticed her doubtful look, since he brazenly added, "looks can be deceiving, my lady, you wouldn't find a better cutpurse in all of Denerim."

"It's Ser Cauthrien, to you," she corrected him firmly. She wasn't surprised at his revelation of being a thief. She should have guessed it from his behavior and attitude. "Where is Duncan?"

The thief shrugged, "He was at Highever, last I heard, looking for another recruit. He's supposed to be back by now."

"Then maybe you should go find him, and report to duty."

He gave her a chuckle, before running his hand through his short brown hair. "That sounds like a good idea." He offered her a dramatic flourish, his lips tugging upwards into a grin, "until next time, Ser Cauthrien."

She returned his flirtations with a cold glare, crossing her arms over her chest, and watched the thief walk off towards the Grey Warden's camp. She shook her head at the thief's antics, wondering if the Wardens were right in their recruitment in welcoming unsavory characters such as this Daveth.

"What do you mean a sovereign? This collection of armor alone is worth two sovereigns."

Cauthrien's musings on the Grey Wardens were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice. At first she thought she was mistaken and that she was hearing things, but when the voice spoke up again, she had no doubts that she hadn't. She walked the short distance to where the quartermaster was stationed, in her approach; she was able to pick up more of the conversation between the quartermaster and her friend.

"I'm sorry, ser, but the best I can offer is a Sovereign for the lot."

"Unbelievable," vented the familiar voice. "What a rip-off!"

"Ser, this isn't a marketplace. My funds are limited."

"Two Sovereigns," the familiar voice haggled.

The Quartermaster sighed. "Very well, ser, I can agree to that."

"Marcus?" Cauthrien called, when she turned the corner to see her friend Marcus Cousland. This was the last place she expected him to be. He turned around at the sound of her voice, and Cauthrien was caught off guard by his haggard appearance. She noticed dark rings under his eyes, messy hair, and the unkempt beard. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen the nobleman so uncouth before. He was even dressed rather poorly in dark scale armor that looked to be designed for a common guard or soldier, and not the son of nobility. All in all, it was an unsettling sight for her to see her friend in, and it immediately sent off warning bells in the back of her mind.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, realizing her tone was more of an astonishing demand than a friendly question.

His face darkened, his lips twisting into a frown. His eyes narrowed to slits, but his ire didn't seem directed towards her, since his cold glare went off into the distance.

"Your sovereigns, ser," the Quartermaster interrupted, his hand outstretched with the appropriate number of gold coins. Marcus took the coins with a tight nod, before unloading his weapons from his bag onto the Quartermaster's table.

Cauthrien stood awkwardly and quietly off to the side. Watching her friend hand over a number of bows and daggers to the Quartermaster, who inspected each weapon before piling them up off to the side. She was still trying to figure out what he was doing here at Ostagar. General Loghain had told her to expect Fergus and Teyrn Bryce Cousland to be leading the armies of Highever to Ostagar. The former had already arrived, a day ago with a large bulk of Highever's forces and a message that his father would be arriving today with Arl Howe and the Arl's forces.

She stopped her musings when she noticed Marcus hand over his fourth and final dagger to the quartermaster. He turned to her, and when he did, she noticed the hollow, haunting look behind his blue eyes.

He must have noticed her startled reaction to his look, since he jerked his head to the left, signaling for her to follow him, and she did. The two walked side by side, not a single word exchanged between the two friends as they went up a stairwell which led them up to a small, secluded ledge that stood ten to fifteen feet high and allowed them to overlook the Ostagar camp.

The silence was killing Cauthrien. She had so many questions she wanted to ask her friend, but something deep within her, stopped herself from bombarding him with questions. It was a difficult feeling to explain, but a sense within her that was cautioning her to remain silent.

Marcus stepped forward, away from her, resting his hands on the stone railing which wrapped around the ledge. He looked over his shoulder to her. "It's good to see you."

She was relieved to hear him speak, but she noticed the tone in which he spoke. He sounded empty; she could never recall him sounding so hollow before in all the years they knew each other. A growing sense of anxiety began to swell within her, as she had to wonder what sort of thing could have this affect on him. She didn't have to wait long.

His lip twitched, and his fingers gripped the edge of the railing. "Highever was attacked."

She felt her stomach painfully tighten at the news. "How is that possible? I didn't think the darkspawn could be so far north-"

"It wasn't the darkspawn," he cut-in coldly. "My family was betrayed. Rendon Howe showed his true colors. He led his soldiers into our castle."

Cauthrien felt numb. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Surely it couldn't be possible. The Couslands dead, Howe's betrayal, none of it seemed real, but looking into the haunted eyes of her former lover and friend. She knew the painstaking realization. It was all true.

"They spared no one."

She instinctively put her hand over his and gently squeezed, hoping to reassure him that he was not alone, but even as she did, his words painfully sunk in. _They spared no one…_ She had known the Couslands since she was a girl, often visiting Highever with Anora and Loghain. They had treated her like family, like an extended daughter, offering her kindness and love. To learn that they had all been killed, no slaughtered by a supposed ally, brought a sickening feeling to her stomach.

"Oren, Oriana, father, mother," Marcus said, his voice quivering, causing Cauthrien to strengthen her grip on his hand. His breathing was shaky and she could see the pain shimmering beneath his eyes, the tears that were threatening to spill. He must have sensed her gaze, since he was quick to turn away from her, so that she couldn't see his pain, his tears.

She had never seen him in so much pain, so vulnerable, so broken. Seeing her friend in such a tragic state sent a fire through Cauthrien. It was a burning anger directed at the man responsible for this. It wasn't logical, it was emotional. It was a righteous anger that resonated from within.

"That bastard!" she snarled, glancing out of the corner of her eye she could see he had shifted once again and this time his eyes were on her. "That traitorous bastard, to think that he can use the Blight as a chance for him to gain power, surely the King will not stand for this!"

"No," agreed Marcus, "the King has already promised to move the army north after the battle here."

"Good, that snake deserves to be drawn and quartered before you behead him," Cauthrien suggested darkly. "Then hang his corpse up for the birds." She looked over, hoping for some sort of reaction or response from her friend but he did and said nothing. He simply stared out towards the Ostagar camp below them, his eyes unfocused.

She frowned, confused and worried about his distant behavior. She realized that he sounded deflated when he revealed the news of the King's plan for vengeance on Howe. It was evident that something else was bothering him. Something he had yet to tell her.

"Marcus?" she asked gently.

He sighed, "There's something else."

Her eyes remained on him. "What do you mean?"

"I am to be a Grey Warden."

Of all the answers to expect, she was not expecting this particular one. This startling revelation made no sense to her. It seemed random, and not calculating or well thought out. Those were two traits which Marcus usually prided himself on, when it came to making a decision. She had seen him do it time and time again.

"A Grey Warden?" repeated Cauthrien dubiously. "I don't understand."

"Yeah," he answered, his eyes narrowing, and his jaw tightened. "I escaped with Duncan. To pay for his escort I am to render my services to the Order."

Cauthrien remembered what Daveth, the Grey Warden recruit had told her about Duncan being in Highever looking for further recruits for the Wardens. She shook her head, not wanting to accept the facts that were being laid out in front of her. She wouldn't believe it. Duncan would not jeopardize the future of Highever by taking one of their heirs, especially if all of the other Couslands had been killed, save for Fergus.

"Highever needs you now more than ever!" Cauthrien countered. "Your brother needs you now more than ever!"

"You don't think I know that!" he hissed, jerking his hand out of her grip. She knew at once she had made a mistake with her previous remarks that had sounded more like an accusation and less like the question she was trying to ask.

"You think I want to be a Grey Warden?"

She had never seen him this angry, never heard him speak with such vehemence, which only added to his already dark, intensive tone that sent an involuntary shiver through her.

"I didn't have a fucking choice!" He growled, his fingers flexing into fists before he pounded them into the stone railing. "I was conscripted!"

She bowed her head, embarrassed that she could have thought or suggested that he would part his brother or Highever willingly. She didn't want to push him away. Not now, not after everything he had just lost. This was when he needed her more than ever, and she couldn't afford to sully the moment. "I'm sorry, Marcus, I didn't mean to accuse-"

"Don't apologize, you didn't mean any harm." He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm the one who should be sorry; I didn't mean to be short with you."

None of this seemed real. Cauthrien didn't want to believe any of this. It was too much to take in. It was too horrible to be true. The Couslands slaughtered, Howe betraying them, Marcus being forced into joining the Grey Wardens. The battle against the darkspawn had yet to begin, and already Cauthrien could feel the world around her falling apart.

She glanced up and at first look, one would think Marcus Cousland was well composed, but Cauthrien knew her friend well enough to see it was all an act. A mask, he desperately tried to put up to cover up his growing fear and pain so that others would not uncover the truth. He tried to put on a brave face. He tried to look impassive, to look strong, but Cauthrien knew him more intimately then most.

In a moment of instinct and desire to soothe her friend's aching pain, she wrapped her arms around him. She wanted to convey all of her support, friendship, and love into the act as she tried to hold him as close to her as she could. She nestled her head beneath his neck, feeling his unkempt dark beard tickle her ear and neck.

The contact had broken down his walls, she could feel his shoulders shaking, she could hear the silent sobs escape his lips, and she could feel the fresh tears trickling down from his cheeks onto her hair. To her relief, she could feel his own arms come to rest on her back, his grip tightening around her smaller frame. She tried to further soothe him by gently running her hands up his back, and it seemed to be working, since after a few seconds she could no longer feel him shaking.

"You are not alone, Marcus," she whispered into the nook of his neck.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, and in response to her soothing words she was sure his grip on her tightened to convey what words could not do.

It was him, who gently pulled away from the embrace. She pulled her head from his neck, allowing her to look up at his face. She could still see tears glistening in his beard, but his blue eyes held a certain hue to them, which made his expression look determined or thoughtful, but Cauthrien wasn't sure.

A smile slowly bloomed on his lips. "Thank you, Cauthrien." He brought his hands up to rest on her shoulders. "Your quality is unmatched."

She returned his smile, feeling a growing warmness in her chest at his words.

His smile dipped into a thoughtful frown, "I must leave. I have to complete my assignment for the Wardens."

She knew better then to ask what his assignment was, and nodded in understanding. She knew, she should report back to Loghain and make her own preparations for the battle. The reminder of her General and Teyrn, made her wonder if he had been told of the news about Howe's treachery. She made a mental note to inform him of Howe's sedition when she reported for duty. She was confident in her belief that the Hero of River Dane wouldn't tolerate such an act of treason against one of Ferelden's oldest families and staunchest supporters.

He turned to go, but she put her hand on his elbow, stopping him, and before she could even process what she was doing, she leaned up and for the first time, since they were lovers, she kissed him. It was a chaste peck on the cheek, but it was intimate enough for the female soldier and when she turned her head, she could feel a creeping blush come up her neck and cheeks. A sudden warmness in her face at her impromptu decision that she was beginning to think was an embarrassing mistake.

To her surprise, she felt his hands cup her cheeks, gently turning her head in his direction, before lowering his own to kiss the crown of her head. When he pulled up, a small, but sincere smile came to his lips, and without another word, he turned and left.

At that moment all Cauthrien could do was watch her friend depart, while she tried to wrap her head around everything he had just told her. For the first time since she arrived at Ostagar, the battle and the darkspawn were the furthest thing from her mind.

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><p>Marcus Cousland didn't like waiting. And yet for the last hour that's what he was forced to do. It had been close to an hour since he and the other recruits had come back from the Korcari Wilds after collecting vials of darkspawn blood. And thanks to the help of two apostates, they were able to retrieve the Warden Treaties and return back to camp safely. Duncan took the vials and excused himself and Alistair so that they could prepare for the Joining.<p>

In his waiting, Marcus was forced to dwell on this Joining and the purpose behind the vials of darkspawn blood they collected. He could still remember retrieving the darkspawn blood, and collecting it into those flasks. The way the liquid hissed and bubbled within the flask only offered further proof of just how vile the liquid was. He wasn't sure why they needed the darkspawn blood, it's not like they could consume the liquid, since it was poisonous…

"Enough," he said, mentally thwarting any further thoughts on the subject, but it didn't stop his stomach from lurching. He bent over in a moment of fear that he may empty his dinner rations on his boots, but after taking a few deep calming breaths, he was able to rein in his nausea which bloomed from the repugnant thoughts of consuming darkspawn blood.

While he stood back up, his eyes caught the Tower of Ishal in the distance, with the fading but still glowing red sun casting the sky behind the spire a crimson shade. The towering spire loomed over the ruins of Ostagar. This fort was an impressive display of Tevinter architecture, staying intact so many centuries after it was built. He could only guess at why Ferelden had allowed such a pivotal fort to fall in such disarray. The purpose of this fort was as clear now as it was when Tevinter built it.

He had a growing curiosity to explore the ruins, and search through every last nook and cranny in studying this historical site, in hopes of uncovering or learning more about the great Empire that was once the Tevinter Imperium. He cared little for their reputation as blood mages, slavery, and the powerful magocracy that rules the country. To him he still believed much could still be learned from their culture and remnants of an Empire that once stretched most of Thedas. However, he was also wise enough to keep such thoughts or praise of the Imperium to himself, knowing that the Chantry had done a thorough job in educating the masses about the horrors of the ancient Empire and how it stood against everything Andraste and the Chantry stood for.

_Besides,_ _none of that matters, now._ This bitter reminder was more than enough to derail Marcus' musings on both Ostagar and the Empire that built it. For the better part of the last hour as he waited to be summoned for the Joining. He had remained sitting alone one on of the benches positioned on the outskirts of the camp, away from the masses of soldiers and servants.

He knew his location was not the reason why he had yet to be summoned for the Joining. Even though he was in somewhat seclusion, he could still easily be seen or contacted by marching soldiers on patrol. It was no secret that he was here, and hence he remained thankfully undisturbed.

He wished he had Padfoot with him. At least then he could have some company he actually wanted. Not to mention, it would be easier to pass time with his mabari hound by playing games of fetch. However, Duncan had disallowed Marcus from having Padfoot in his company since arriving at Ostagar. A sliver of fear rose within him at the thought that Grey Wardens weren't allowed pets. The thought of abandoning Padfoot would be another reason to hate this Order. He would not leave his beloved Mabari no matter their rules. Padfoot was all he had from his family, from his home. His hound was one of the only remaining friends Marcus had left.

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, trying to refocus his thoughts, he didn't need to get himself all worked up over an issue that could be created by him and have been more speculation then truth. This was why Marcus Cousland didn't like waiting. It allowed his thoughts to stray, and as they did, he was forced to confront self-conjured issues which gnawed within, providing stress and fear while their threat was simply superficial.

Deciding that he had waited long enough, he left his secluded spot in hopes of finding Duncan or Alistair or somebody who had any knowledge of this Joining, so that he could get this over with.

His spot had been on the ledge of a cliff which had supported the bridge that connected the main ruins of Ostagar with the Tower of Ishal and the remaining ruins.

Entering through the main entrance of the camp, Marcus to his left could see the mage and templar encampment. Mages practicing in the arcane arts while the templars stood vigilant for any sign of possession or corruption which the mages would have gotten from the Fade and the demons that lurked there. To Marcus, the templars were a necessary order. He believed in equality between species such as elves and man, but mages were different. They couldn't have complete autonomy, not with the power they wielded. It was too dangerous. There had to be substantial checks to curb threats. One bad mage could level a city, slaughter hundreds of innocent lives. That couldn't be allowed.

Up ahead, he came to where the Chantry had set up their camp. On a tall, man built wooden tower stood the Reverend Mother, flanked by chantry sisters. She loomed over the kneeling and bowing soldiers and servants below who made up her congregation. The Mother leading them in one final blessing and prayer before they were to report to their positions.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Marcus frowned, his appreciation of the Chantry and Maker souring after the ordeal at Highever. He no longer could call himself a member of the faithful, not after what he had experienced, not after what he had witnessed. He had never been a devout follower of the Chant, having always held some qualms with the Chantry, but even that amount of faith or trust had crumbled after Highever.

Disgusted, he turned to leave but one of the closest soldiers caught his eye, and he recognized the soldier at once to be Ser Jory, one of his fellow Grey Warden recruits. The Redcliffe knight who had been kneeling, stood from his position and approached him.

"Are you here to collect me?"

"What? No," Marcus answered hastily, realizing that Jory must have thought he had come to tell him it was time for the Joining. It would explain the tinge of anxiety which had laced the knight's question.

"Oh," Jory replied, looking relieved, before the two fell into an awkward lapse of silence, standing on the edges of the Chantry's camp, with the Mother and the sisters continuing to lead the congregation in prayer.

"Well," Marcus said, having heard enough of the Chantry, and wanting to excuse himself. "I think I'll be going." He hadn't taken three steps when Ser Jory called after him.

"Wait, I'll come with you."

Marcus bit back the sigh that threatened to escape his lips when he stopped and turned to wait. It wasn't as if Marcus disliked the Redcliffe native, in fact he felt neither good nor bad will to the knight, and was rather indifferent of the recruit. The two walked quietly away from the chantry camp and deeper into the camp where they were sure to bump into one of the Grey Wardens.

"You are a knight, are you not?"

"What?" Marcus replied, confused with how Jory would suddenly come up with that guess. "No, I am no knight."

Jory frowned, "but your shield."

"What about my shield?" Marcus replied, defensively.

"It is of the Cousland's heraldry," Jory pointed out. "Those are only given to the knights of Highever or the guards of Cousland castle or to the Teyrn's family…"

Jory's jaw hung open, his eyes widened to saucers. "You're Marcus Cousland." It was less a question and more of a statement.

Marcus didn't respond. He instead looked around to make sure that they were not being watched before escorting Jory towards one of the near-by pavilions. Thankfully, it was empty, because this was a conversation that he didn't want to be overheard. He was trying to keep his identity a secret. He was surprised and begrudgingly impressed that Jory was able to make the connection of his heritage based solely on his shield.

"Your Grace," Jory said, his tone, soft but with awe. "It is an honor." The Knight quickly folded his arms to his chest and bowed.

Marcus looked over his shoulder, making sure they were alone. "Don't Jory, that is not necessary."

"But it is!" Jory insisted, remaining in his humbled position. "You are of Cousland blood! Your father is the Teyrn of Highever."

The reminder of his family and his own dynasty sent a pang of pain through him. He wished Jory would just be quiet. He didn't need the reminders of what happened at Highever. Not when his stomach was already in knots because of the Joining.

Jory remained oblivious to Marcus' internal unrest and pain, as he continued to prattle on. "My Helena always spoke so highly of you and your family, Your Grace."

"Your wife is too kind," Marcus politely replied, forcing himself to smile, but his lips only seemed to twitch.

"She is rather insistent in staying in Highever, you know, Your Grace."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes," Jory agreed, bobbling his head up and down, still smiling while he did. "That was why I petitioned Arl Eamon to serve at Highever once we were married."

That had gotten Marcus' attention, and his interest, "What?"

Jory nodded, looking pleased. "Yes, I was transferred to Highever, swearing oath of fealty and loyalty to your father."

A spark ignited within Marcus. It was a blossom of hope and a newfound appreciation for the knight standing before him. It was only moments ago when he saw Jory as just a recruit-an annoying recruit. Now, he saw the knight as a potential ally. He was a warrior who had sworn loyalty to his father, his family and Highever.

"But I don't understand," Jory spoke up, stopping Marcus' own internal musings. "Why are you here? Surely, a nobleman such as your stature would have other commitments then to join the Grey Wardens."

Marcus frowned. He should have realized that Jory would be curious of why he was with the Wardens, especially since the knight was now familiar with his background and family. It would have been easier to lie or not to say anything if Jory hadn't realized who he was. This complicated matters for Marcus, because he wanted to keep his own heritage and background a secret in case Howe had other spies and agents.

Jory took Marcus' silence as a show of his offense at the question, since the Redcliffe knight was quick to backpedal. "My apologies, your grace I meant no offense neither did I seek to pry."

"It's fine," Marcus replied curtly, silently thankful that the knight seemed to finally have the good sense to shut up. However, his luck was not to last.

"Well lookie here?"

Marcus jumped at the sudden voice, that had penetrated through the darkness and silence between the two knights. His heart thumping against his ribs, taking a few breaths to calm himself while his head scanned the darkness around him for the source of the voice.

It had been the third and final Grey Warden Denerim thief appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping out of the darkness from between two pillars. Marcus could see a thin smile on the rogue's lips from the above torchlight. Leaving him to wonder how much the recruit had heard of his conversation with Jory.

The rogue stepped towards Marcus, before stopping suddenly and giving a low bow, with an over-the-top flourish, "My apologies, your Grace."

The mocking apology had confirmed Marcus' worst fears. It seemed that Daveth had been privy to the entirety of their conversation and present to Jory's revelation of his heritage.

Daveth stood from his bowing position, but his dark eyes never left Marcus'. "You know, back in Denerim, the best marks were always the nobility."

Marcus remained silent, refusing to rise to the cutpurse's bait. He settled for simply glaring at the rogue, but that didn't seem to bother Daveth, taking the glare in stride.

It was Jory who broke the silent stare showdown between Marcus and Daveth. "You stole from nobility?"

Daveth's sight flickered to the dumbfounded knight. "Of course I did!" He was still smiling as he took a few steps closer to the two warriors. "They usually are the only ones who have anything worth to steal!"

Jory shook his head, looking at the rogue as if he was responsible for kicking mabari puppies or stealing candy from children. It was clear the honorable knight was offended at the thought of a cutpurse disrespecting the nobility.

"And they decided to make you a Warden?"

"What's the matter?" Daveth teased. "Don't want to be lumped in with a thief?"

"No, I do not," Jory glowered.

Daveth didn't seem the least bit bothered by Jory's insistence, he instead turned his attention back to Marcus. "What about you? Do you mind being with a thief, your grace?"

Marcus pushed down a growing sense of frustration and annoyance directed at the rogue who seemed keen on upsetting him. "Don't call me that."

Daveth wagged his finger at Marcus, "touchy, touchy."

Jory stepped forward. "You should show some respect. He's a nobleman."

Daveth's eyes were still on Marcus when he dismissed, Jory's warning. "No, he ain't, you blockhead. He's a Warden just like the rest of us." Daveth stepped forward, within arms reach of him. "We're all equals now."

Marcus forced himself to smile. Knowing that he needed to remain polite and calm, since he and Daveth would be working together in the future as Grey Wardens. "That's right, Daveth. We're equals."

He then extended his hand towards the Denerim thief. The rogue looked from Marcus' outstretched hand back to him, suspicious of a trick or a joke. A few seconds of silent contemplation followed, when he must have realized it wasn't, since a grinning Daveth took his offered hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Quite right," the rogue happily agreed.

Marcus returned the rogue's confident smile as the two released their grips simultaneously. He turned his attention to the Redcliffe knight who looked dismayed at the exchange between the nobleman and thief. Marcus couldn't blame the warrior's confusion since it wasn't every day you saw a Nobleman and a thief shake hands and call themselves equals. Marcus supposed that must have been one of the appeals of being a Grey Warden. You were all equal under the Order.

Whether he liked it or not this Order, these men were now parts of his life. And for the first time since he was conscripted, Marcus Cousland could accept that bitter truth. He was to be a Grey Warden.

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><p><strong>Next Chapter: The Joining<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

****A/N:** I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to Macabre Stranger, ************Mike3207, dominicgrim, 'guest', JamesK716, and Janizary for reading & reviewing. It is appreciated.******

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Nine**

**Location: Ostagar, Ferelden**

Marcus sighed.

The youngest Cousland son was really beginning to think that the Joining was simply a test of your patience and not your skill. Or at the very least the Grey Wardens didn't put any stock in punctuality. It had been more than an hour of waiting before he had even met up with the two other Warden recruits, Daveth and Ser Jory. And he wouldn't be surprised if it would be another hour before there would be any sight or sign of the Warden Commander Duncan and his second, Alistair.

_Wasn't there a battle to be fought, and darkspawn to be slain? _Marcus mused, on the absence of the Wardens and this continuous delay of the Joining. He was currently leaning against a pillar. In front of him were the two other recruits who continued to snipe back and forth. The three of them were waiting in one of the many pavilions at Ostagar. It was in this very pavilion that Jory had realized Marcus was of Cousland blood. It was where Daveth had also learned of Marcus' heritage, since he had taken it upon himself to eavesdrop on the private conversation between the Redcliffe knight and Highever nobleman.

Marcus had made peace with his heritage being exposed. Thankfully, Daveth and Jory had the decency to realize that it was not a topic of conversation. They also had the common sense not to ask about the details that had led him to being a Warden. Marcus was no martyr. He was not a man who sought pity or solace from complete strangers. He was a private man, and was not inclined to share details about himself or his past with people he had just met.

However, the continued insistence of Jory in maintaining proper etiquette was frustrating. Not to mention, Daveth who took it upon himself to only refer to Marcus as "Your Grace" or "My Liege." He knew the cutpurse was only teasing, but it still didn't make it any less annoying.

"I am not a coward!" protested Jory, after Daveth's latest barb.

"You sure are blubbering like one," pointed out Daveth.

_If this was the future of the Wardens in Ferelden, then this country was in trouble_. Marcus lazily pondered. He pushed himself up from his leaning position, stretching his back and stretching his arms over his head while he did.

"I just…I just wish I could know what we are confronting," Jory countered, fear trickling into his tone.

"There's a reason why they're so mysterious," Marcus put-in, noticing the knight's sad expression when he turned to him.

"If I would've known," Jory murmured, shaking his head, "If I would have known that such risks were possible…"

"We know, we know," Daveth cut-in. "You would have stayed home."

"I have a wife back in Redcliffe and a child on the way." Jory glared at the cutpurse. "They are depending on me! But I doubt you know what that feels like."

"Oh because I am not an honorable coward such as yourself," was the rogue's cutting reply.

"I am no coward!" Jory claimed, taking a step towards the rogue. His hand slowly drifted upwards towards the hilt of his greatsword.

"Enough," Marcus stepped in between the fuming pair. He sent a glare at both men before continuing. "We are Wardens, whether you two like it or not, after this night we will be brothers in arms."

Jory bowed his head, "You're right, Lord Cousland." The knight raised his head slightly towards the rogue. "I am willing to fight beside him… for the greater good of the Order."

Daveth crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "That's awfully decent of you."

_It wasn't much, _Marcus thought looking back and forth between the two recruits. _But it was a start,_ he conceded.

"My apologies, Daveth," Jory spoke up, it was the first time the knight had called Daveth by his name. The Knight had usually referred to him as 'thief' or 'that rogue.'

Daveth too seemed to have a change of heart since he nodded slowly towards the knight. "Me too, names and all."

"I…ugh…I just feel useless," Jory explained, the knight sounding ashamed and deflated at his admission.

"Cheer up," Daveth put in. "Once you're a Warden, you'll never be useless again!"

Jory looked to be contemplating the surprisingly insightful remarks from the rogue. "That is true."

"Andraste's ass, it's true," Daveth chipped in. "As Wardens we will have a responsibility in keeping all of Thedas safe from the darkspawn."

Daveth's enthusiasm as a Warden rubbed Marcus the wrong way. He couldn't begrudge the recruit for his outlook or for his spirit. Marcus may have accepted his fate of being a Grey Warden, but it didn't mean he had forgotten his qualms or released his pent up feelings and emotions about the Order and the ordeal that had brought him here.

The rogue must have noticed Marcus' dampening mood, "What's wrong your Grace, fighting darkspawn not admirable enough for a nobleman of your stature?"

"I just don't share your optimism."

Daveth frowned, his dark eyes surveying Marcus, suspicion gleaming beneath them. "If you don't believe, then why are you even here?"

"I didn't have a choice," Marcus replied. As predicted the implications of his answer were lost on the rogue.

Daveth shrugged, "neither did I, but you don't see me complaining."

Marcus shook his head, signaling that he was done with this conversation. It was going down a path that he refused to take or to lead Daveth or Jory down. He had securely closed that piece of himself inside, sealing away the emotions, feelings, and memories that went with it.

"Thought so," Daveth snorted. "A spoiled nobleman til' the end, I take it."

"Exactly," Marcus lied with ease. The alternative was out of the question.

Daveth opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a cruel retort, but it died on his lips, when his eyes drifted over and his jaw snapped shut.

A twinge of anxiety twisted within Marcus, when he looked over his shoulder to see the approaching Duncan and Alistair. _The Joining was about to begin._

The two Wardens seemed oblivious to the growing hostile atmosphere that they had entered. "I will not lie." Duncan began, puncturing through the thick tension that had arisen from Marcus and Daveth arguing.

"We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are," observed a solemn Duncan.

Marcus let out a shaky breath, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand up. He had a bad feeling about this. It was then that he noticed the Warden Commander was holding a silver chalice. The images of the vials of darkspawn blood they collected came to the forefront of his mind. Marcus gulped, turning his attention away from the cup and the Wardens, but he could still hear Duncan's next words.

"Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later."

Marcus turned to see how the other recruits were faring. Jory had paled considerably. Marcus could see the fear flickering behind the man's eyes. He turned to the mouthy rogue, to see Daveth had gone deathly quiet, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line while his dark eyes remained transfixed on the chalice in Duncan's hands. They had become a deathly quiet bunch.

Marcus had remembered Loghain telling him during his apprenticeship that it was up to a certain few to rally the many. That a leader took it upon himself to infuse his men with the confidence and bravery needed before facing the unknown in battle. Marcus supposed that if he was supposed to be this leader, then this might a good time to say something. To try to stir some confidence and unity between the three of them, but the problem was he could find none within himself to draw upon.

So when in doubt, lie.

"I'm ready to do what is necessary," Marcus smoothly lied; his words seemed to tumble out of his mouth, while his tone came out flat. It didn't seem quite the stirring speech, one would come accustom to reading in the stories, but nonetheless it seemed to work since Daveth stepped forward, making a show of standing beside Marcus.

"Yeah, I'd do anything to stop the Blight."

Marcus had a sudden urge to clap the rogue on the shoulder, even after their testy arguing moments ago. He was unable to explain where the notion came from. When he acted upon it, the rogue turned to him, a grateful look shimmered beneath his dark eyes before offering him a tight, but friendly nod.

Jory joined them, coming to a stop on Marcus' other side. "Let's be done with it then," The knight proclaimed. His tone wavered slightly, going a pitch higher than his normal voice.

Marcus looked down to see the knight's gauntleted hands were shaking at his side. Marcus repeated the gesture to Jory, clapping the knight on the shoulder. Marcus considered it a miracle that he was able to give Jory a firm pat, since the fear within him bathed his body in an icy chill that was causing his own body to shake, hands and fingers included.

Duncan nodded, and if Marcus didn't know better he was sure the Warden Commander looked pleased at this display of solidarity between the three recruits. But for all Marcus could know that could just have been his imagination, in an attempt to calm his own nerves.

"The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation," Duncan explained while he placed the chalice on the table in front of the three recruits. "So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Marcus swore under his breath. His fingers dug painfully deep into his flesh as he clenched them into fists. He had suspicions and fears that they would be forced to drink it. Oh, had he hoped and prayed and tried to think his way out of the dreadful thought of having to consume darkspawn blood. It had all been for naught. Since his instincts had been right. Even in being right, it did nothing to calm the torrent of fear that was swirling within him like a violent whirlpool.

"We're…going to drink the blood of those… those creatures?" Jory stammered, the wavering of his voice coupled with his higher tone betrayed the knight's own fear and anxiety at the prospect of this Joining.

Duncan stepped around the table, to approach the three recruits, stopping when he stood in front of Jory, but his dark eyes were resting on Marcus. "As the first Grey Wardens did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory."

Marcus bit hard on his lower lip, in an effort to stop himself from vomiting on his boots at the disgusting thought of drinking darkspawn blood. He could feel his whole body shaking beneath his scale armor. The burning sensation of bile was creeping up his throat. Marcus swallowed hard, trying to will his stomach to cooperate. It seemed to work-barely, but the thoughts that stemmed through him only seemed to send his stomach through another round of violent lurches.

He knew that darkspawn blood was poisonous. The creatures themselves were parasites, which inflicted on all of who came across them with their taint. There were parts of Thedas that had never recovered from past Blights. If they were to survive this Joining, he was sure that there were bound to be repercussions. It seemed impossible one could simply take this poison into their body without terrible effects and dire consequences.

The thought of him transforming into some sort of ghoul unleashed another lurch in his stomach, and this one he could not contain. Marcus could taste the bile burning up his throat, feeling the vile liquid fill his mouth, staining his teeth, as its acidic taste burned his tongue and pushed up against his lips which were firmly set closed. The bile sloshed around his mouth, his head bobbed forward, his instincts telling him to open his mouth and vomit right then and there. But he refused, clamping his jaw shut.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to swallow it down, as predicted it burned its way down his throat. His stomach rumbled in protest, as he felt a burning sensation swell around his heart and through his chest. The bile was gone, but he was left with the nasty residue still clinging to the inside corners of his mouth. He was thankful for the water canteen that was clipped to his belt. He unclipped it and was quick to put it to his lips, greedily drinking in the thankfully cool water which refreshed both his mouth and throat. He paid no heed to the stares he was receiving from the others. The sympathetic glance that Duncan and Alistair sent him confirmed his hunch that his behavior was perfectly normal.

After taking in almost half the water still left in his canteen. He sloshed some of the liquid in his mouth before bending over and spitting the residue of bile and water onto the ground. He was pleased when it missed his boots. He let out a long breath, while he clipped his canteen back to his belt, his mouth felt fresher and the burning of his throat had been soothed.

"Those who survive become immune to the taint," explained Alistair, "We can sense it in the darkspawn which allows us to sense them."

Marcus frowned, unable to wrap his mind around the logistics of that explanation. "Sense them?"

"That is right," Duncan confirmed with a nod. "The darkspawn have a hive mind. With the taint in us, we can tap into their consciousness."

Instead of putting his mind at ease, Duncan's answer sent a fresh new surge of fear and dread through him. _What did that mean?_ Marcus reflected. _If we could tap into their consciousness, that would mean, we would become them? _

That startling revelation got Marcus' stomach to violently lurch. He ignored it. "But there must be more to it!" Marcus pressed. "There must be side-effects."

It was when he noticed the exchange between Duncan and Alistair did Marcus realize he had hit the mark. He had a growing desire to run from Duncan and abandon this madness which they called the Grey Wardens and to flee from this abomination which they called the Joining.

Duncan seemingly sensing his growing motive to flee took a step to his side, to stand directly in front of Marcus. His dark eyes were unyielding when they came to rest on him. That only further strengthened his motivation to run. Marcus could feel his legs twitch beneath him, while his feet began to tremble.

"There will be effects made to your body," Duncan confirmed, "if you survive."

"What kind of effects?" Marcus demanded. It was here did he realize, perhaps he was not blessed or lucky to be saved from the slaughter of his family's home. This payment to the Order seemed worse than death itself. To live this cursed life of consuming the darkspawn taint and then being able to converse or understand the darkspawn. It was just plain unnatural.

"I know you have questions," Duncan replied, sympathetically. "But we have a battle to fight in. I will explain everything to you when time allows."

Marcus sighed at Duncan's refusal to answer any more questions. He knew that he wouldn't get any of the answers he sought until it was too late. By then, he would either be a Grey Warden or he'd be dead. He took a deep breath, trying to soothe his thundering heart, trying to calm the anxiety which ballooned inside of him.

He closed his eyes. It was the thought of his family that stopped his legs from trembling. It was the reminder of his parent's last words to him that soothed his heart. It was the images of all those servants, soldiers, and guards who had sacrificed their lives so that he may live that stopped him from running.

It was the reminder that it was up to him to bring Howe to justice, did Marcus speak: "Let's get on with it, then."

"We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first." Duncan explained, turning to Alistair, "If you would?"

Alistair stepped forward, bowing his head as if he was praying. When he spoke, there was no hint of his jovial self that Marcus had become accustomed to. The Grey Warden spoke in a solemn tone that only hinted at the seriousness and dangers of the Joining they were about to partake in.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

Duncan grabbed the chalice from the table, and turned to the rogue, "Daveth, step forward."

The Denerim cutpurse obeyed, before taking the offered chalice. He held it in his hands, his eyes transfixed on the contents within before he drank from it. He just returned the goblet to Duncan, when he fell to his knees. An unnatural cry escaped his lips, which sent a paralyzing shiver through Marcus'. His eyes remained transfixed on the rogue who fell onto his stomach, where he remained still.

Alistair was at his side in an instant, checking the man's pulse. When he looked up, he gave a sigh of relief, when his eyes met Duncan's. "He lives."

Duncan's expression remained impassive when he turned to Ser Jory. The Redcliffe knight seemed to find no courage in Daveth's survival. His eyes were wide in fright as he began to back-pedal away from Duncan and Alistair.

"Maker's breath, this is madness!"

"Ser Jory, it is your time to submit to the Joining."

The knight's wide eyes went from the still Daveth to the approaching Alistair and Duncan. He shook his head, "I have a wife. A child! Had I known…" he paused, his hands wrapping around the hilt of his greatsword, and he looked ready to withdraw it from its holster.

Duncan moved forward unperturbed by the knight's threatening gesture. This led Marcus to believe this wasn't the first time this happened in a Joining.

The Grey Warden Commander had his hands on the hilts of his own daggers when he replied in a chilling voice. "There is no turning back."

That seemed to send Jory over the edge, withdrawing his greatsword and extending it forward; he took a few measured swings to rebuff the advancing Grey Wardens. "NO!"

Marcus who had been ensnared by the confrontation between Duncan and Jory, suddenly found his own feet moving towards the conflict. "Ser Jory," he said, his feet nimbly moving around a suspicious looking Alistair, so that he could put himself directly between Duncan and Jory. He realized he had the eyes of all three men on him. Marcus turned to face Jory, trusting that neither Duncan nor Alistair were the type of men who would backstab him.

"You must take the Joining," Marcus calmly said, who hid his own surprise at his tone and his words. He was sure he would have been the last man to force someone to take this revolting ritual, and yet here he was, doing just that.

"Please, Lord Cousland," Jory pleaded, his eyes shimmering with fear. "I cannot do this."

Marcus caught movement from behind him, turning around to see Duncan and Alistair had withdrew their weapons, the former held a pair of shimmering daggers, while the latter equipped himself with a longsword and shield.

"STOP!" Marcus protested, raising his hands. It seemed his order had momentarily stunned Duncan and Alistair. He knew he was stunned by what he was saying and doing.

It was something that had stirred within him. It was difficult for him to describe, but this feeling radiated a certain glow that soothed him. Equipping him with the bravery needed to speak. It provided him with the right words to mollify those who opposed him. It bestowed in him the responsibility to act. It brought with him the accountability to make his spirit rise in defense. It gave him the qualities needed to lead.

"We cannot turn back. We have been chosen and we must accept this fate," Marcus reminded the honor bounded knight. Realizing, these were the same words that he needed to hear. This was the same thing that he needed to accept. This was something that he needed to make peace with. The revelation was clear to him, because he needed this as much as Jory did.

Jory remained unconvinced. "They ask too much! There is no glory in this."

Marcus sighed, "I know, Ser Jory, I know."

His words stirred Duncan and Alistair to continue their advancement towards Ser Jory. Reacting to the boldness of Alistair and Duncan, Ser Jory cautiously swung his sword from side to side, to parry any efforts of attack.

"ENOUGH," Marcus shouted, clamoring to keep himself between Jory and the advancing pair of Wardens. It was a delicate dance, because he had to evade Jory's greatsword as well as the pair of daggers wielded by Duncan and the sword and shield of Alistair, and since he was in the middle, all of them were pointing their weapons at Marcus.

"No, the Joining has begun," Duncan said coldly.

Marcus stepped into Duncan's way, feeling the daggers the rogue wielded poke against his scale armor in his chest and side. He could feel his heart thundering against his ribs as the sharp tips of the dagger began to dig into his armor. "This is not the way!"

Duncan's intensive dark stare seemed unrelenting, but Marcus willed himself to not back down, making a point to show that he was unarmed, raising his empty hands in a gesture of peace. He looked over to see Alistair remained a few steps back, he knew the Warden well enough to know that Alistair wouldn't act without orders.

"I have a wife, a child!" Jory continued to protest, unrelenting in his own constant parrying defense of his greatsword. "A child I've yet to see!"

"I know," Marcus said, breaking eye contact with Duncan, to look over his shoulder at the Redcliffe knight who was shaking. It was clear to Marcus that he wasn't going to strike at Duncan or himself. The knight though fearful and in a state of panic, was still honor bound by his training. It was possible he would not attack at all, and that he was simply bluffing in hopes of freeing himself from this burden

"My wife, my child," Jory whined.

"Will be taken care of," Marcus put in, knowing he needed to put a stop to this, before things went out of hand. He would not be responsible for a murder, and if Duncan and Alistair got their way, it would be. He could feel the eyes of all three men, he could see the confusion in Alistair's, the impassive stare from Duncan, and looking over his shoulder he could see the disbelief in Jory's, but in that disbelief, Marcus saw a glint of hope in the knight's expression. And that was all Marcus needed to continue.

He made an effort to slowly lower his hands to where Duncan's daggers remained against his armor, and carefully put his fingers to the blade. He could feel them tense beneath his touch. He instinctively held his breath, at the prickling of the blades against his chest. Summoning all the bravery he could muster, he gently guided them away from his armor and off of himself altogether. Duncan didn't lower his weapons, he remained poised to attack, but Marcus paid the Commander of the Grey no heed.

"You have my word, ser Jory," Marcus said, injecting as much confidence as he could into his tone. "My word as a Cousland, your wife and child will be provided for." He had presided in court with his family enough times to make his tone commanding and regal, coupled with the honesty and sincerity behind his promise, before he added. "But only if you submit yourself to the taint, you must undergo the Joining."

Jory's sword momentarily froze, his eyes widening and his jaw opening at Marcus' words and conditions. Marcus could see the hope within the knight's expression beginning to flicker, beginning to grow.

"How can you promise such things? How can you encourage such things! This Joining can kill you."

"Duncan," Marcus called over his shoulder, but he kept his eyes on Jory. "You will notify the King if I am to die, that Ser Jory's wife and child will be provided for due to his service of crown and country.

Duncan seemed taken aback at the instructions, but the Warden was quick to hide any surprise beneath his impassive demeanor. "I will, your Grace," he lowered his head, and his daggers. "You have my word as Commander of the Grey."

Jory was faltering. He no longer remained in a defensive stance. He slowly lowered his sword, the tip of the blade nearly clipping the ground. "I…I…"

"Ser Jory, we must do this," Marcus insisted, locking eyes with the knight, hoping to convey the sincerity in his promise. And for a moment the knight and nobleman simply stared at one another, quietly, neither moved, and in those last split seconds, Marcus had feared his words had failed. The Knight would see his defiance through to the end. But that was not to be, since Jory slowly nodded, before sheathing his greatsword.

"Very well, Lord Cousland," he slowly turned to Duncan. "I will submit myself to the taint."

Duncan looked from Jory to Marcus before returning the knight's nod. The Commander of the Grey then sheathed his daggers, and sent a look to Alistair, no doubt silently ordering him to do the same. Alistair looking confused at what had just transpired, carefully returned his sword and shield to his back, but not before he sent an inquisitive look towards Marcus.

Duncan too, was watching Marcus closely. Marcus was slightly bothered by the stare, but tried his best to remain standing tall and hoping that he was projecting some form of confidence. Finally, Duncan returned his attention to the Redcliffe knight, holding the chalice he offered it to Jory.

The knight hesitantly took it, closing his eyes. He muttered something which Marcus was sure was some sort of prayer before the knight drank its contents.

Like Daveth before him, Jory was just able to hand the goblet back to Duncan, before he cried out in anguish. His eyes rolling back into his head, his hands clawing at his throat, he collapsed to his knees and without another sound, he fell onto his back.

In that second when Marcus' eyes met Jory's when they had rolled back into his head, he had felt a surge of fear and pain that he had sent Jory to his death. In that silence, Marcus could only contemplate if he had done the right thing or not when the knight remained still on the ground.

Alistair like with Daveth knelt beside Jory, to check his pulse. "He lives."

Marcus let loose the breath; he didn't know he was holding.

"It seems you have saved a life tonight," Duncan observed.

Marcus tried to smile, or nod, to acknowledge the Commander's words, but he couldn't. His eyes were on the cup in his hands. It was his turn.

"Will you submit to the taint?" Duncan's question cut through Marcus' musings, offering the chalice which Marcus took.

Marcus licked his lips as he steadied the cup in his hands. The fear that had gripped him before the Joining had disappeared. He lifted the cup to his lips. The temptation to flee that had overwhelmed him during the beginning of the ritual was now gone. When his eyes surveyed the vile liquid, he realized his fate had been sealed at Highever. All of the events of that night had led him to this one moment. To truly save his life, he was going to have to risk it.

He took a breath. There was no fear within him. There was no anger.

He tilted his head back to drink the liquid and to surrender to the taint.

This was his duty. And a Cousland always does their duty.

* * *

><p><strong>(On Daveth and Jory surviving the Joining)- Like I said at the beginning of this story, this is an AU with larger roles for certain NPCs... <strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: ******I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to kaysue18, bergamot29, 'guest', Bloodiron, Janizary, Mike3207, and olivegbg for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. ********

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Ten**

**Location: Ostagar, Ferelden**

Loghain Mac Tir was at a loss.

He could not understand Cailan's fascination with the Grey Wardens. The king ordering the Wardens to fight beside him on the front lines of the pending battle, as glorified body guards against a horde of darkspawn.

It was idiotic.

Maric, would never have allowed such a foolish notion to be permitted in battle when they were fighting those damn Orlesians. -The very nation, which Maric's son was now cozying to, asking for their wardens and chevaliers for aide. Ferelden didn't need their aide. Cailan was too young to understand what the word 'aide' really meant to the Orlesians. They claimed they were aiding Ferelden when they invaded. These very same chevaliers claimed they were aiding Ferelden's people when they burned and pillaged the countryside.

_Never again, _Loghain had sworn. Never again would he allow the Orlesian chevaliers to set foot on Ferelden soil. He didn't care if he came across stern or disrespectful. He had witnessed the horrors of Orlais. Of course Cailan and that Empress Celene could talk about the occupation as if it was in the past. As if it was ancient history, something that they could put behind them. They could talk about Ferelden and Orlais moving forward as partners and allies for a brighter Thedas, because they didn't know better.

Cailan didn't have to grow up under the ruthless occupation of the Orlesians. He didn't watch family members get cut down on the whim of some Orlesian usurper. Cailan didn't witness the carnage and destruction left in the Orlesians wake. Loghain understood that the young King was trying to get out of his father's shadow. In a way, Loghain couldn't fault the boy for wanting to pave his own way. He didn't want to rest on the laurels of his father. Cailan wanted to prove that he truly was worthy to be the offspring of Maric the Savior. It was a respectable desire, Loghain had to admit.

This was not the way to prove it. To trust his life to this Order, these mysterious Wardens, that had no accountability coupled with the possibility of unlimited power in their right to conscript whoever they saw fit. These Grey Wardens were dangerous. Their self professed importance in fighting darkspawn and blights. They imposed themselves in every country on Thedas. They lived on the glory of their fore-bearers. The Wardens had not been needed in more than two centuries. They were a fading Order.

Loghain looked across the table at one of the victims of these ambitious Wardens. Marcus Cousland stood quietly, his eyes on the maps of Ostagar which were spread out on the table. The maps had been used to direct the troop movement for the battle preparations. The meeting had ended only minutes ago.

To Loghain's confusion, the young man wasn't even dressed in armor. He had come to the meeting in a dark tunic and matching dark pants.

When Loghain had been told of Marcus' conscription he had been furious. One of his promising apprentices captured by these Wardens and forced to join their Order. It was barbaric. He tried to protest to King Cailan, but the King wouldn't hear of it. The King had told him that he didn't want to get involved in Grey Warden affairs. He didn't have the power to intervene in Grey Warden recruiting, because they had the Right of Conscription.

What made the conversation with the King all the more frustrating for Loghain was the wistful tone Cailan used in discussing the Wardens and the reverence in which he held this Order in. The Teyrn was sure that Cailan was jealous of Marcus being conscripted into the Wardens. No doubt, the Ferelden King saw Marcus' conscription not as a curse but a gift. If given the choice, Loghain wouldn't be surprised if Cailan would have desired to switch places with Marcus. To allow the King a chance at glory and being ushered into the Grey Wardens. Cailan would have seen himself the recipient of the bargain, when Cailan would be allowed to play hero, Marcus would be given the task of over-seeing Ferelden in administration and politics.

Loghain had to wonder if both Ferelden and his daughter wouldn't have been better off, if those two men's roles had been reversed. The thought of Anora, coupled with Marcus stirred up memories for the Teyrn of Gwaren. Years ago, when she was no older then thirteen, Teyrn Cousland had come to Loghain with a betrothal proposal. If it was any other nobleman, Loghain wouldn't have heard of it, but his respect for the Cousland family, allowed him to listen to Bryce's offer.

Marcus would wed Anora, with the promise that when the pair was old enough and ready they would be crowned Teyrn and Teyrna of Gwaren. It was an appealing offer for Loghain and one that he considered even when it was well rumored that Cailan and Anora would probably marry when they were of age. Loghain knew there was no absolute certainty that the Landsmeet would approve of Anora as Ferelden's Queen. Some within the Ferelden nobility protested the mix of the royal Theirin blood with the common blood of Mac Tir; no one was louder in these protests then Arl Eamon of Redcliffe.

This was why he was tempted by Bryce's offer. The two children were already friends when the proposal was suggested. Loghain had witnessed the interactions between the two, during his trips to Highever, and was certain that there was a level of attraction between the pair of children. He knew his daughter well enough to know she was attracted to Marcus' intelligence and confidence. She was used to getting her away. She could basically lead Cailan around like a lost puppy, but not Marcus. He would not dance to her tune.

In the end, Loghain declined the Teyrn's proposal. He wondered if he had made the right decision for his daughter. He was not immune to the rumors at court of Cailan's infidelity to his daughter_. It seemed that there were certain things that Cailan had inherited from his father, after all. _Loghain sardonically noted, referring to Maric's own tendency of womanizing.

Loghain was sure that if Cailan had not married Anora, he would have likely married some Orlesian noble. He was aware that Eamon had been diligently looking up prospects and sending the reports to Denerim, throughout Cailan's teenage years. He shook his head, at how Eamon would allow the Orlesians to marry into the Crown and the right to rule Ferelden. He was but a boy living in the Free Marches during the Occupation with no real memories of the savage Orlesian rule. If he had, Loghain doubted Eamon would have married that Orlesian tart, and would be so supportive in a joint marriage between his nephew and Orlais.

Thankfully, Anora was approved as Queen, and she proved those naysayers wrong. She was able to provide the country with steady leadership and level thinking to help guide Ferelden forward. The people loved her for it.

"Your Grace?"

Loghain looked forward to see he was the target of an inquisitive glance sent from his former squire- Marcus. Letting his thoughts rest on certain matters, he directed his attention towards the young man in front of him. "So it is done then?"

Marcus stiffened. "It is."

Loghain made a noise in the back of his throat. He suddenly found it very difficult to look at the young man, so he shifted his attention to the detailed maps of Ostagar that were stretched out on the table. He thought back to the Battle of Southron Hills, where Duncan had attempted to recruit Marcus from the Order and Loghain had thought he had successfully stamped out the idea. Apparently he was wrong.

"It seems Duncan got his recruit after all."

"Yeah, it looks like it," Marcus replied bitterly.

"I was told you came by my tent this afternoon," Loghain observed, his eyes remained transfixed on the maps. He had missed his appearance, because he had been in the King's tent trying to free the young man from the Grey Warden conscription.

"I did," Marcus confirmed.

Loghain sighed, finally looking up at his former squire. "I have failed you, Marcus."

He frowned, "Ser?"

"I tried to get you out of the Conscription," Loghain clarified before adding distastefully. "The King chose not to intercede. He believed that it should be considered an honor to be chosen."

Loghain detected a flash of annoyance flicker in the young man's expression, before Marcus regained his stoic demeanor. "I appreciate the effort, ser." He paused, before adding.

"Do not fret for me."

The Teyrn could detect maturity in Marcus' voice. He could see the seriousness shimmering in his eyes. It caused him to wonder what he meant by his vague statement, "Pardon?"

Marcus looked around to make sure the two were alone, before leaning forward. "I am a Grey Warden for now, but it will not be a permanent position. You have my word on that."

Loghain would be lying to himself, if he didn't admit that he felt a sense of pride at the young man in front of him. He should have known that only Marcus would see the Grey Wardens as a stepping stone and nothing else. It pleased him to know that he was not going to accept this lying down. It almost made the Teyrn crack a smile.

"Good, I am glad to hear it."

Marcus' lips twitched into a smile. "I won't waste your training, ser."

Loghain frowned. He wasn't pleased with Marcus putting all of the emphasis on the training that Marcus received under him during his two year apprenticeship. "It's not the training that is important, Marcus," Loghain pointed out, he was careful with his choice of words and his tone of voice. Loghain wanted him to be able to focus on his words, and not the delivery of them. The importance was not the sentiment but the lesson-the words.

"It is the will and the strength that matters! Without either of which, the training is for naught. You must have the will!"

There was a dark glint in his eyes. His expression too darkened, he brought his right hand off of the table, clenching it into a fist, he replied. "Do not fear, Your Grace, I have the will and strength to see this through to the end."

Loghain knew at once what and who Marcus was referring to. Loghain had been equal parts frustrated and furious at the reports from Highever. He was not the only one, he remembered a spirited Cauthrien come into his tent later in the afternoon, practically spitting fire as she cursed the Arl of Amaranthine and his treasonous attack on the Couslands.

He could still remember his last conversation with Rendon Howe, back in Denerim. Loghain had let slip that it might be in Ferelden's best interest if the Arl and Teyrn were delayed at Ostagar. At the time, Loghain was thinking with the absence of the armies of Highever, Amaranthine, and now Redcliffe, Cailan would alter his plans for Ostagar. The King would allow them to regroup and plan a more appropriate strategy to deal with this darkspawn incursion.

Loghain had never thought or expected Howe to commit such a seditious act. He almost successfully wiped out the entire Cousland dynasty! A family who had roots that stretched back as far as the Theirins. And to make matters worse for Loghain, was that the Arl was consolidating his power and his stranglehold on the Teyrn. It now meant Howe was now theoretically in charge of the second largest army in Ferelden, only behind Loghain who led the armies of Gwaren. That alone troubled the Teyrn of Gwaren. Deposing Howe may not be as simple as marching north. It could lead to a civil war.

"Your Grace?"

"Yes?" he asked, to Marcus.

"I need to get back to the other Wardens," Marcus added the last word, with a hint of distaste.

"I understand." Loghain knew that he should get back to his armies.

"I know with you leading the armies, we'll be able to beat the darkspawn."

"Even if you are with the Wardens," Loghain remarked. "I know this is not the last time we shall cross paths. I'm confident the next time we will not be fighting darkspawn but traitors."

"I look forward to that day."

* * *

><p>"Lord Cousland," Jory greeted Marcus when he returned back to the Warden's camp.<p>

The Redcliffe knight was not the only one, Padfoot bounded over to his master, barking happily. Marcus smiled, crouching down to receive his beloved mabari. He had been separated from his hound for the good part of the day, and he missed Padfoot. It seemed the feeling was mutual if Padfoot's slobbering kisses to Marcus' cheeks were anything to go by.

"Okay, okay, that's enough, Padfoot," Marcus chuckled while trying to fight off the bulking hound that was insistent in slobbering his master's face. He finally pushed the hound away, wiping his face with the back of his hand, when he was free from his hound's greeting.

"Is that the way all nobles greet each other?" Daveth teased, the Denerim thief had his arms crossed, and was smirking while he watched the reunion between hound and nobleman unfold.

"Only the more prestigious ones," Marcus countered, with his own smile, watching a chuckling Daveth and Jory return to the large fire built under the Grey Warden's pavilion. He also spotted Alistair, who was standing by it, talking with Duncan. He was sure that the Warden Commander was informing Alistair about his and Marcus' role during the battle. Judging from Alistair's body language, he didn't seem very keen on their assignment.

Marcus, on the other-hand was very enthused about the task given to them. He didn't mind the idea of lighting the beacon, and avoiding the battle altogether. He had enough fighting the darkspawn at Southron Hills and the Korcari Wilds. Now that he was a Grey Warden, he supposedly would have his whole life to fight darkspawn. So he didn't see the big deal in missing one battle.

He looked to see Jory and Daveth had joined in on the conversation with Duncan and Alistair. Marcus was pleased that the Redcliffe knight seemed comfortable in being around the two Wardens who almost killed him in the name of the Order. He was also thankful that Jory's actions at the Joining didn't seem to carry over any animosity with Alistair and Duncan. Daveth remained oblivious to the events that had unfolded, because he had already passed out from the ritual, causing him to not witness the standoff between the knight and Wardens.

_That was probably for the best,_ Marcus mused, aware that if Daveth had found out, he would have never let Jory hear the end of it. He looked down to see Padfoot had made himself comfortable lying by his feet. Marcus crouched into a sitting position, beside his mabari, and began to pet the hound's head.

Padfoot let out a soft groan of appreciation at the soothing and gentle strokes. Smiling, Marcus was pleased and relieved when Duncan had assured him that he would be allowed to keep Padfoot as a member of the Grey Wardens. Before the Joining, Marcus had feared that the Wardens would try to make him part with the hound. It was something that he would never agree to.

He looked up to see Daveth was approaching him, he noticed the rogue was carrying a bag over his shoulder. When the rogue was close enough, he said: "I got something for ya."

Marcus wrinkled his brow. "Oh?"

Daveth reached into the bag, and pulled out a half dozen flowers.

Marcus fought off a smile when he remarked: "I appreciate the thought, but you're not my type."

"Hah-hah," Daveth replied, with a roll of his eyes, before he dropped the flowers unceremoniously on Marcus' lap.

He picked up one of the flowers and was able to recognize them. They were those Korcari Wild Flowers. Marcus remembered gathering some for the kennel master. These flowers were vital in helping to make sure that mabari didn't get the Blight sickness when they fought darkspawn.

"I thought with your hound and all," Daveth explained, gesturing to the mabari. Padfoot raised his large head, tilting it to the side as his dark eyes examined the flowers on Marcus' lap.

"Thanks," Marcus smiled, picking up the flowers and slipping them into the small bag clipped to his belt. "I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, well no need to get mushy," Daveth dismissed, hastily, with a wave of his hand. "You know I was just taking your advice, now that we're Wardens and all. We need to look out for each other."

Padfoot barked.

"Hounds included," Daveth amended, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Though, I doubt your hound will need them for the coming battle. We heard you were chosen to guard the tower."

Marcus detected amusement in the rogue's tone. "And light the beacon."

"It sounds very prestigious."

Marcus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that simple teasing and goading was Daveth's way. "I suppose you and Jory will be with the king, then?"

Daveth grinned, his chest puffed out. "Yeah, we'll be fighting side by side with the King and the Ferelden Grey Wardens." The rogue buffed his fingers against his leather armor in an attempt to look casual.

"Who woulda thought, a criminal like me would get the opportunity to fight alongside the King of Ferelden."

"I wouldn't have," Jory observed, rejoining Marcus and Daveth. When the latter sent him a frown, Jory was quick to amend. "But I would've been wrong."

Daveth seemed to take the second bit as an apology and nodded at the knight. Marcus was thankful that the animosity between the rogue and Jory which had been present since he arrived at Ostagar and had carried over all the way to the Joining itself had dissipated. It seemed that the two Wardens had been able to form an underlying foundation of friendship, now that they were brothers-in-arms.

Jory, who was dressed in his scale armor, and his greatsword holstered, coupled with the determined look on his face, now looked every bit the knight who had won the tournament at Highever. There was no hesitation or fear in his expression and none was detected in his tone. He seemed ready and waiting for the battle to begin and said as much.

"Finally, I'll be able to take out my frustrations on some cursed darkspawn."

"That is, if you don't soil your pants at the sight of the horde," Daveth joked.

Surprisingly, Jory didn't glower or admonish the rogue for his jest, he instead guffawed. The reaction took Daveth by surprise, who was now owlishly staring at the guffawing knight.

Marcus couldn't blame him. He too looked at the knight, curiously. He had yet to hear the knight so much as crack a chuckle since meeting him. It seemed the knight had for the first time since arriving at Ostagar was able to relax.

_And it only took a battle of darkspawn horde to make him do it, _Marcus mused at the unprecedented shift in behavior from the Redcliffe knight.

Daveth, who had recovered from his disbelief from Jory's reaction, turned to Marcus. "You seem to be taking your assignment better than our fellow Warden."

Marcus didn't need the rogue to elaborate on who he was referring to-Alistair. Marcus shrugged, "I don't see the appeal in charging into the teeth of a darkspawn horde."

Daveth frowned. "You don't like fighting, do you?"

"I prefer living," Marcus replied.

"Don't we all," replied a female voice.

Marcus turned to see Cauthrien standing behind him. She was dressed in heavy red-steel armor, an elegantly crafted greatsword holstered to her back, and she was cradling her battle helmet under her left arm. She was smiling when her eyes met Marcus. No doubt, she was amused by his open mouth and bewildered look as he scurried up from his sitting position to greet his friend.

Padfoot barked happily, bounding over to greet the Gwaren knight.

"Ser Cauthrien," Daveth said, stepping forward. "It seems you were unable to resist my charms."

Marcus' lips pressed into a thin line, while his eyes went from the Denerim thief, noticing the smirk on his lips, to Cauthrien who had been smiling while she was crouched down to greet Padfoot. She was now openly glaring at the Warden rogue, when she stood back up.

"You two know each other?" asked an equally confused Jory.

"You could say that," Daveth answered, before Cauthrien could.

"I wouldn't," Cauthrien countered, still glaring at the thief.

"Cauthrien, what are you doing here?" asked Marcus.

The female soldier turned away from Daveth and back to Marcus, who was pleased to see the glare she was directing at Daveth had softened when their eyes met.

"Teyrn Loghain sent me," she answered. "I'm to escort the Grey Wardens to the Tower of Ishal."

"Really?" asked Marcus, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice or the smile off of his lips.

"Really," she confirmed her own smile still firmly in place; this one didn't quite reach her eyes, causing his to falter. "The Teyrn believed it wise to have one of his own accompany the Wardens, since I will be able to recognize the signal to light the beacon."

"I'm thankful that you agreed to come," he remarked, knowing that his friend had probably been more inclined to be in the battle itself, then to escort a pair of Wardens.

"Only when I knew you would be one of the Wardens."

"Oh, is that so?" asked Marcus, a grin stretching out his lips.

"Yes," Cauthrien answered her usual stoic expression intact, but there was a glint of mirth in her storm cloud eyes when she added. "Maker knows you need all the eyes you can get to look after you."

Padfoot barked in agreement.

Marcus still was smiling despite being insulted. A chuckle escaped his lips when he shook his head, and put his hands on his hips. His eyes going from Cauthrien, who had erased all signs of mirth from her face after delivering her tease, to Padfoot who was sitting on his haunches beside the female soldier.

"You two know each other?" Daveth asked, and to Marcus' pleasure he detected a hint of jealousy in the usual brazen rogue's tone.

He raised his brow to Cauthrien, wondering if she wanted him to answer or if she wanted to, but before either could answer the rogue's question, another voice broke into the conversation. It was Duncan's.

"The King has summoned us."

Marcus knew what that meant. The King wanted the Wardens to take the field with him. The battle was to begin shortly.

"It's about time," Daveth said, turning to the Redcliffe knight.

"There is darkspawn to be killed," Jory agreed.

"And towers to guard," Alistair mumbled, he was standing beside Duncan, but the Warden Commander didn't pay him any heed. His dark eyes instead went to the quiet Cauthrien. She must have sensed the question he was about to ask, since she spoke up.

"I'm here to escort the Wardens to the tower. I will be able to recognize the signal that will be given to light the beacon."

"Very well," he said, "it may benefit them to have an extra hand."

Marcus stepped forward, receiving Duncan's attention as he did. "I am ready."

Duncan surveyed him, before removing the bag he had had slung over his shoulders. "These are the Grey Warden treaties. I am entrusting them to you for the duration of the battle."

Marcus could only widen his eyes at the bag that was being presented to him. He remembered getting the treaties from the two apostates-Flemeth and Morrigan, during his journey into the Korcari Wilds with Alistair, Daveth, and Jory. He also knew and understood how important those treaties were. These were treaties signed by dwarves, the Dalish elves, and the Circle of Magi. It was at a time when the Grey Wardens had been heralded for their deeds in past Blights. These treaties allowed the Wardens to call these factions into assembling armies. It was their pledge to fight and aide the Wardens in all that they could do.

"Are you sure?" Marcus asked, believing the responsibility should be given to a senior Warden, such as who would also be coming with him.

"Very," Duncan assured him. "I know that if the worst was to come, they would be in safe hands."

Marcus frowned at what the Commander was insinuating. He looked down at the weathered leather bag and took it, "Only until you return."

"Of course," Duncan agreed.

Marcus slung the bag over his shoulder, making sure the straps were fastened before he did. The last thing he wanted was to spill the treaties onto the soggy ground, in front of everyone, five seconds after being entrusted with them.

Alistair sighed, "I'm ready too, Duncan."

"I know you are," Duncan replied, gesturing Jory and Daveth to follow him.

The rogue turned to Marcus. "Try not to have too much fun, while I'm gone."

Marcus rolled his eyes, his lips formed a smile. "Try not to get killed; I might almost miss your jokes."

Daveth snorted in amusement before nodding, and falling into step behind Duncan.

"Maker watch over you, Lord Cousland," Jory said, putting his arms to his chest before bowing.

"You too, Ser Jory," Marcus replied, clapping the Redcliffe knight's back when he passed behind Daveth,

"Duncan?" Alistair called out.

The Commander of the Grey looked over his shoulder.

"Maker watch over you," Alistair finished.

Duncan bowed his head, "Maker watch over us all." Without another word, he led Daveth and Jory away.

Marcus watched the three Wardens until they were out of sight. He wasn't sure why out of all the Wardens in the Order, why he and Alistair had been chosen for this task. Especially when Jory and Daveth were fighting with Duncan and both men were junior Wardens to Alistair. He assumed he could add it to the questions he had for Duncan that he had to wait to ask until after the battle.

He turned to Alistair and Cauthrien, who were still looking where the Wardens disappeared too, a look of yearning in their expression for the battle they would not be fighting in. Where Marcus didn't mind being left behind, it was evident his two companions both preferred to partake in the battle then to go up to the Tower of Ishal.

"We should get ready too," Marcus spoke up, realizing that they needed to be in the proper position to watch the events of the battle unfold in order to light the beacon. His words stirred the two soldiers back to the matter at-hand.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Alistair said, glumly.

Cauthrien too, nodded in agreement as she turned to him, her grey eyes surveying him with a hint of amusement that was evident in her tone when she spoke. "Though, I suppose it may be a good idea if you were in your armor first, Marcus."

Marcus frowned, looking down to discover that he was not in his scale armor. He had taken it off to have it altered, since it wasn't designed for his build. At the moment, he was dressed in simple dark pants and long sleeved shirt, neither of which would come in handy if they were to rejoin the battle after lighting the beacon.

"Your weapons would help too," pointed out Cauthrien, her lips crooked into a smile.

"Fair point," Marcus replied, returning her smile with his own, he looked over to see Alistair's glum expression had been replaced with one of amusement. "I wouldn't be much good to you two, if I wasn't even armored or armed."

"I'm not sure you'd be any use with them," Cauthrien teased.

"Very funny," Marcus drawled.

Padfoot made a chuffing noise.

He turned to his hound, "laugh it up, fur ball."

Marcus wasn't sure about being a Grey Warden. He wasn't sure what would happen in the battle. He was sure that with Cauthrien and Padfoot at his side, there was no place he'd rather be in Ostagar.

As he went to change into his armor, his thoughts drifted back to his last discussion with his mentor-Loghain. He couldn't help but wonder why the Teyrn had decided to part with one his best and most skilled Lieutenants in Cauthrien. _To remind Marcus that he was not alone? That friends could be found, even when he was with the Grey Wardens?_ Whatever the Teyrn's reasons, Marcus wasn't going to argue. He had learned a long time ago to trust in the Teyrn's judgment.

* * *

><p><strong>Next Chapter- The Battle of Ostagar<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: ****I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to kaysue18, Mike3207, bergamot29, James1996, borismortys, olivegbg, Janizary, and 'guest' for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. **

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Location: Ostagar, Ferelden**

Cauthrien had been expecting to help lead the Teyrn's armies into battle against the darkspawn. She had been preparing for this very battle for days if not weeks. Instead, she had been instructed by Loghain to escort two Wardens to the Tower to await the proper signal from the King's army.

To Cauthrien, this assignment felt like a demotion. She couldn't help but feel a sense of humiliation overcome her, when Loghain had given her, her new orders in front of the other officers. She feared she had done something wrong, or had done something to upset the Teyrn. She tried to get answers from this sudden decision, but he gave her none, simply telling her to trust in his judgment.

And that had been that.

He left with the remainder of his officers to tend to his army. She was left to watch the battle from afar. If the scouts were correct, this would be the largest battle that Ferelden has seen since the time of the Orlais occupation. The armies of Ferelden had been assembled to put an end to the darkspawn threat. Whether this was to be a Blight or not, this battle promised to be large in-scale, and Cauthrien was watching it on the side. It was a moment of history, and she was nothing more than a spectator.

She did not wish to charge the field for glory, but for country. She wanted to defend her home from this darkspawn incursion. At least when she was on the battle-field she felt needed. She was a soldier, an officer. The battlefield was where she belonged. It was how she could help Ferelden. Not here, not escorting Wardens, or scaling towers. Not watching signals and lighting beacons.

She felt useless in this role.

"Hey."

She looked up to see Marcus approach. He was dressed in his scale armor. It was the type of armor that was better designed and suited for guards. However, she didn't make her critique vocal, knowing that he was not wearing the armor by choice, but by necessity.

"I am sorry."

She frowned, at the sudden apology. She could see a distant look cloud his usual sharp blue eyes. He came up alongside her. He sighed, his attention off in the distance, probably like Cauthrien at nothing in particular.

"I know you do not want to be here," he turned to her.

She opened her mouth, fumbling for an honest defense to rebut his calmly spoken fact, but he didn't give her a chance.

"If you like I can send you back to the Teyrn with a messenger, saying we found another to help us to the Tower."

The offer caught her by surprise. She tried to read his expression, but he remained stoic, his blue eyes on her, but they revealed nothing of the storm of emotions she was sure that lingered beneath them. She had to admit she was taken aback by his open generosity, even though she knew him long enough to have expected this from him. Nonetheless, it was still a disarming trait he possessed. It was this ability to be able to properly get a read or a feel on a person. This skill is why she believed he had the makings of a great leader.

The offer was tempting. It was what she wanted. It was something she was just complaining about, but she was hesitating…

"You would do that for me?"

"Of course, I would," he answered without hesitation, favoring her with a look that made it seem she was crazy to question his choice in wanting to help her. "I'd do anything I could to help you."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "I hope you know that."

She bit her lower lip, feeling a glow of warmth resonate within her chest. It was with his last words did she finally come to a decision. It was with his sincerity and generosity that silenced her internal struggle. In her desire to want to be a soldier, she had forgotten the importance of being a friend.

"And who would look after you?" she asked, patting his hand which remained resting on her shoulder.

He must have sensed something in her change of demeanor to believe he had used guilt in to keeping her from leaving. "Cauthrien, you don't-"

She wouldn't allow him to finish, "Don't have to watch you?" She knew that he was trying to do what was best for her. "I know I don't, but someone needs to."

It was just only now did Cauthrien realize, that what was best for her was remaining by his side. She was not only a soldier, or an officer, but a friend. It was a role she had foolishly forgotten about. It should be considered her most important role.

He relaxed. She was sure he looked relieved at her decision to remain with him. She didn't focus on the warmth in her chest, or allow a smile to slip past her stoic demeanor. If his smile was anything to go by, he didn't have the spirit to try to further change her mind in leaving.

Padfoot made his presence known with a bark.

Cauthrien turned to see the mabari and the Warden-Alistair approach them.

"Who's ready to light the beacon?" he asked, with feigned enthusiasm.

"Keep that up, Alistair," Marcus began, in a sarcastic fatherly tone. "And it won't be you."

Alistair must have caught the glint of mirth in Marcus' eyes, since the Warden smiled. "I'd hate to have to march up all those flights of stairs and not get the honor."

"Then let's get moving," Marcus instructed, turning to Cauthrien, with a pleading look. She understood what he was silently trying to get across. She recognized him trying to pass the leadership role onto her, but she knew that it was better suited for them all, if he took up the mantle, not her.

He must have taken the hint. She noticed a look of resignation cross his expression before taking point and leading them forward. It made him unable to see the small satisfied smile on Cauthrien's lips.

* * *

><p>Much to Cauthrien's chagrin, it was raining once more at Ostagar. She was sadly use to the rain. It had become a constant presence since the Ferelden army stationed themselves here more than a week ago. She and the others had begun their march across the bridge that connected the main ruins of Ostagar with the Tower of Ishal. Catapults lined the bridges as officers were barking out instructions to the soldiers to prepare the siege engines against the encroaching darkspawn.<p>

They had made it more than halfway across the bridge, before Cauthrien stopped in her tracks when her eyes caught the enemy. Her feet carried her to the railing of the bridge, her eyes on the Korcari Wilds. She removed her helmet, cradling it in her hand. She paid no heed to the continuing downpour of rain that had her drenched to the bone. Her blood ran cold when she took in the sight of the darkspawn. It was nothing she had prepared herself for.

Cauthrien had never seen a more frightening sight in all her years as a soldier, than she did when she looked out from the bridge to see the army of darkspawn approach Ostagar. It was a terrifying sight to behold, amidst the dark cover of the Korcari Wilds; torches could be seen glistening in the darkness. These torches went as far as the eye could see, all through the Korcari Wilds, these torches could be seen.

"Maker," she breathed in awe. The scouts' reports didn't even hint at this many darkspawn amassing on Ostagar. The army had been expecting a mild incursion; this looked like a full-fledged invasion. She looked down to see the army of Ferelden was assembling outside the fortifications of Ostagar. The banners of the different standards of the Arlings, and Bannorn doused by the pouring rain were still flapping in the cold night breeze.

"Maker watch over them," she whispered, sending a prayer to the brave men and women who stood below her.

The sight of so large a darkspawn army harkened her back to when she was younger, when she visited Highever and it was too wet to play outside. She, Marcus, and Nathaniel would gather in the library, and Aldous, Marcus' wizened tutor would tell them the stories about the old Blights. He would tell them about the large armies of the darkspawn horde resembling a dark cloud as they covered and polluted the lands with their corruption. When she was younger, the number of darkspawn that Aldous described left no real impact on her, because to her it was only a number. They were no longer numbers. It was a reality. Looking down at the seas of darkspawn flooding through the Korcari Wilds as far as the eye could see, she understood just how devastating these 'numbers' could be.

She had a bad feeling about all of this.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Marcus come up beside her. His face was stoic while he surveyed the large armies below them, but she could see the awe in his eyes, because she was sure her own eyes held a similar look at the sight of these armies.

A flash of lighting that looked to have stabbed the skies in its bright light was followed by a heavy thunder clap.

She could see the first wave of darkspawn were beginning to clear the Korcari Wilds. She was relying more on the torches they carried then actually seeing the menacing creatures themselves. She discerned a change of the flicker of the large fires between the different groups of the Ferelden army. It was a signal she immediately recognized. As an officer to Loghain she had meticulously studied the various signals.

"The King is giving the signal to the archers," she observed. She was only able to discern the volley of arrows from Ferelden's forces because of how the fat rain drops were sliced in the air as the arrows fell upon the darkspawn. The other signal was apparent when the archers hit their marks as many of the torches the darkspawn had been carrying were suddenly snuffed out.

"What comes after the archers?"

"The hounds," she answered.

Padfoot gave what sounded like a bark of encouragement at the mention of the mabari's ilk.

Marcus gently scrubbed Padfoot's head. "I'm sure they will do Ferelden proud, Padfoot." He turned to her, "come Cauthrien, we can do them no good from here."

She sighed, brushing a few of the damp tresses of her dark hair out of her eyes, before putting her battle helmet back on. She sent one more prayer of protection to the Maker to watch over her fighting brethren. Her prayer was interrupted by a blinding light that penetrated her sight even with her eyes closed in prayer. The following of shouts and curses and heat of flames sent her scurrying away from the bridge railing. One of the bridge's catapults had been hit by the darkspawn's own weapons of war. The siege machine had exploded sending bits of flaming chunks of wood in different directions, including impaling some of the soldiers and officers who were assigned to tend to them.

"I think, we stayed here long enough," Alistair put in.

Marcus looked like he couldn't agree more. "Let's get off the bridge."

Cauthrien understood his reasoning at once. Even though she was clear of the railing, she could see large fireballs being volleyed in both directions. She followed the others forward, as they scampered between the groups of soldiers who were trying to return fire with their catapults. They had to dodge two more catapults that had been sent up in flames from the darkspawn launching fireballs before finally reaching the other end of the bridge.

"That was enough battle for me," Marcus quipped, with a shaky breath. "I think my eyebrows got singed from that last fireball." He followed up his quip, by dramatically bringing his hands to his face and tentatively inspecting his eye brows with his fingers.

"You look no worse than usual," Cauthrien pointed out.

Marcus opened his mouth to respond, but he closed it, his lips pressed in a thin line as his eyes took hold of something past Cauthrien. Confused, she turned to see what had gotten his attention. It was people. They were guards and they were running in their direction.

"What's this all about?" Alistair wondered.

"Come on," Marcus urged them, leading them towards the fleeing men. These men were running and shouting. When they got close enough, Cauthrien could finally understand what they were saying.

"The darkspawn have attacked the tower!"

She noticed similar looks of disbelief on Alistair's and Marcus' faces as they got closer. One guard accompanied by a mage were running towards them.

"Run for your life!" the guard was screaming.

"Stop!" Marcus shouted, his authoritative voice brought both guard and mage to an immediate halt right in front of them. "What is happening?"

"Darkspawn!" the guard all but shouted. "They burrowed under the tower, they were everywhere!"

Cauthrien inhaled sharply.

Marcus looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers. "It looks like you get that battle after all," he said grimly.

"What?" the guard asked stunned. "You're not going up there are you?" he pointed to the Tower.

"We have to," answered Marcus, withdrawing his sword from its sheath and slipping his arm through the strap of his shield.

Cauthrien withdrew _the summer sword,_ her fingers tapping against the hilt when she brought it to bear.

"You're mad!" the guard said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm getting out of here!"

"Coward," hissed Cauthrien watching him flee into the darkness. Her attention shifted to the deathly quiet mage, who looked ready to run as well. The mage hadn't taken more than two steps before Marcus called after him.

"You there, mage," The mage looked just as frightened as the guard, turned to Marcus, "Y-yes?"

"What's your name?"

"Gregory."

"Is this your first time out of the Tower?"

The mage nodded.

"You're coming with us," Marcus insisted.

"Me?" the mage gulped, his eyes widening to saucers. "I-I'm not a soldier!"

"Neither am I," Marcus replied.

"I…I don't th-think I can do this."

"You can," Marcus assured him. "I know you can."

The mage didn't look convinced; he took a step backwards, his eyes darting in different directions, Cauthrien knew at once that he was trying to pick a route to flee, the guard before him.

"We're wasting time," she growled, directing her ire at this whimpering mage. She wanted to rebuke him. She wanted to reprimand him for his cowardice, and tell him that they needed to get moving because they were wasting valuable time. The armies of Ferelden were depending on them. The King was depending on them. Teyrn Loghain was depending on them.

Marcus ignored her. He was entirely focused on the mage, stepping in front of him to block him from running. "I am a Grey Warden, Gregory."

It wasn't Marcus' movement but his revelation that brought curiosity to the mage's expression, "A Grey Warden?"

Marcus nodded, before gesturing to Alistair. "We both are."

"Then what do you need me for?" the mage whined.

"We cannot do this without you, Gregory, so will you join us?"

That took the mage by surprise, his brown eyes shimmered in fear, and his expression pained,and his stance reluctant. "You…you really need me?"

"Yes," Marcus answered without hesitation. "Will you fight with us?"

Marcus' confidence in the mage seemed to have a dramatic effect on him, as the mage took a steady breath before nodding, tightening his grip on his staff. "Okay."

"Good," Marcus said, turning to Alistair, "He'll fight beside you."

The mage turned to Alistair, who gave Gregory an acknowledging nod. "Don't worry, killing darkspawn is my specialty."

That seemed to bolster Gregory's confidence, as he went to stand beside the former Templar and now Grey Warden.

Marcus smiled, "Excellent, let's get going." He led them forward up the veranda. They hadn't walked very far when Cauthrien, who was walking beside Marcus, noticed him closing his eyes, and wincing in pain.

"Marcus, what is it?"

"It's nothing," he said too quickly, to be believable.

Cauthrien frowned, but before she could call him out on his lie. Her eyes drifted further up ahead, and she was able to spot combat. The darkspawn were battling the guards of the Tower who hadn't fled. It looked like an intensive fight between the both sides, but it seemed the darkspawn had the advantage pressing forward towards the dwindling guards.

She wasn't the only one to notice the dire situation that the guards were in.

"For the Grey Wardens!" Alistair called from behind her, before charging forward, a hesitant Gregory following on his heels, glued to his side as they entered the fray of combat.

Marcus too took off in a charge to a pair of hurlocks, Padfoot at his master's side.

Cauthrien looked to see a pair of genlock grunts moving towards her. She met them half way, _summer sword_ in hand, she twisted her grip on the hilt of the blade, raising it over her shoulder and leading with the pommel. Her unconventional opening strike took one of the genlocks by surprise, as her pommel smashed into its nose. It howled in pain, staggering backwards, Cauthrien impaled the creature with the _summer sword_ before it could hit the ground.

The other genlock hissed in anger while it twirled its two daggers before unleashing a series of twin strikes. Cauthrien deftly guided her greatsword to successfully parry the genlock's attack. The genlock tried to trap her greatsword in between its daggers, but Cauthrien was too strong. She shrugged off the grip with such force that the genlock tripped over its feet. She never gave it a chance to regain its footing, cleaving the grunt with a high bludgeoning strike of the greatsword. With the sword still in the darkspawn, the genlock grunt writhed, gurgling up blood before falling limply against her blade. With a quick tug and a wet crunching noise, she was able to pull out her greatsword.

She looked up to see Marcus was now alone and engaged in combat with a Hurlock Alpha. Unlike the darkspawn grunts whose advantage was numbers, and not skill, these Alphas were particularly nasty and skilled in the battleaxe, their weapons of choice. She had faced a few of them in the earlier skirmishes, and was surprised by the level of intelligence and talent that those particular darkspawn possessed.

From her trained eye, she could see her friend was in trouble. The Alpha's attacks were relentless and précised, and Marcus' defense was quickly falling apart. It was a disaster waiting to happen. She looked around to see if anyone closer to him recognized the danger Marcus was in, but the mage,  
>Alistair, and Padfoot could not be seen. The trio must have gone further to deal with any darkspawn that were guarding the Tower's entrance.<p>

She took off at a sprint towards the fighting Alpha and Marcus. Her eyes fixed on the pair when she noticed an opening in Marcus' defensive stance. She was not the only one. The Alpha swung its battleaxe in a low arc, Marcus jumped backwards in hopes to avoid it. If the Alpha's battle-axe was a foot longer, it would have cleaved Marcus in two. Nonetheless, the battleaxe was able to hit its mark, Marcus cried out in pain, dropping his sword and shield, before crumpling to the ground at the feet of the darkspawn.

The Alpha gave a deep cackle beneath its helm, its dark eyes glistening with malice, standing over Marcus, raising its battleaxe to deliver the killing blow.

Cauthrien was there in an instant. The _summer sword_ was at the ready when she thrust the greatsword at the Alpha, who though surprised by her sudden appearance was able to deflect the strike. It took a few steps backwards but quickly regained its footing. The darkspawn gripped the battleaxe with both hands favoring it on its left side; she could see fresh blood trickling down the blade. Coupled with an unmoving Marcus on the ground it was enough for her to realize her worst fears. He was badly injured.

Knowing she needed to finish this Alpha quickly to tend to her friend, Cauthrien went on the offensive. Each thrust and strike of the_ summer sword _towards the Alpha was deflected and parried with its battleaxe. The darkspawn was able to match her blow for blow with both finesse and strength. It deftly maneuvered the handle of the battleaxe in its grip and thrust the pommel of the blade at an unsuspecting Cauthrien who was just able to parry the strike away from its target-her skull. At the close range, she could smell the rotten flesh of the creature. She could see the dark gleam in its darker eyes. Its stare was purely filled with malevolence.

When Cauthrien successfully parried the pommel strike, she took her risk, stepping forward even closer to the darkspawn, leading with the _summer sword, _with the close proximity and its awkward grip on the battleaxe, the Alpha was unsuccessful in deflecting the strike. The tip of the blade found an entry point, cutting deep into the Alpha's flesh at the base of its throat. She could hear it gurgling and hissing in pain behind its helm, she spun around, greatsword in hand. Her back was to the creature when she delivered another deep thrust deep into the Alpha's chest. It was the killing blow. The darkspawn fell backwards-dead.

Cauthrien didn't admire her kill or the finesse used to deliver the blow. Her attention and focus were solely on Marcus. She dropped her prized and fabled greatsword unceremoniously onto the ground when she came to his side. He was on his stomach, and she could see blood was beginning to seep into the soggy muddy ground, pooling around him. A sliver of fear began to coil itself around her heart.

"Marcus?" she said, dreading the silence that seemed to tick off agonizingly slow until he groaned in response. His response provided a reprieve of fear, and gave her a clear head of what she needed to do- examine and tend to the wound.

"I'm going to turn you over."

He grunted.

She took it as him agreeing and if he didn't, she knew she didn't need his permission to save him. She put one of her gauntleted hands on his shoulder, and the other on his hip. Slowly and very carefully she was able to turn him over onto his back. Her movement was slow and precise, ignoring his barks of protest, and the string of curses that he hissed at no one in particular.

"Let's not do that again," he groaned, when she had successfully finishing turning him onto his back.

She was quick to notice the paleness in his face. Her grey eyes then traveled down his body and when they came upon the wound, her heart painfully lurched against her chest. The Alpha's strike was more successful then she had initially expected. The battleaxe had cut cleanly through Marcus' shabby chain mail. It left a horizontal slash across his abdomen. It hadn't been deep enough to puncture any of his organs, but the wound was bleeding profusely.

She knew if it wasn't tended properly, he would bleed out, slowly and painfully. Ignoring the painful thumping of her heart, she carefully placed her gauntleted hands over the wound to provide the proper pressure to try to stop the bleeding.

"Help!" she cried, looking around for any sign of assistance. "We need help over here!"

No one was around. They were alone. She closed her eyes, blinking back tears that were threatening to spill. She couldn't allow herself to fall apart. She couldn't let her fear get the better of her. She was better than that. She needed to stay calm. It was no easy task, but Cauthrien was used to things not being easy. She made a life out of it.

"You just keep saving my life don't ya?"

Leave it to Marcus to try to lighten the mood. She looked down at his paling face. His blue eyes usually sharp were losing their focus. "You're lucky; I like to keep you around."

He chuckled, but the action was immediately regretted, closing his eyes from a wince, he hissed in pain.

"Do not try to laugh," she chided him, while inwardly scolding herself for being the one responsible.

"Lucky for me," he rasped, "I'm with you."

She wasn't able to fight off the smile that came to her lips at his joke, "Ass."

He wheezed, his lips twitching, but he made no further attempt to try to speak.

"Maker, what happened?"

Cauthrien looked up to see the mage, Alistair, and Padfoot had returned. A sense of relief filled her at their arrival, believing that with the mage here it would only be just a matter of seconds before Marcus would be back on his feet.

It had been Alistair who had spoken, his brown eyes taking in the scene with disbelief. Marcus' faithful mabari war hound- Padfoot gave a low whine, nudging Marcus' shoulder with its bulky head, before giving him a lick on the cheek, before sitting on its haunches right beside Cauthrien.

"I'm okay, Padfoot," Marcus insisted to his intelligent war-hound.

"Mage," Cauthrien said, aware of how sharp her tone had sounded, but she didn't care. They didn't have time for a formal conversation. "He needs healing magic."

The mage looked wide eyed as everyone turned to him, "I…I'm not a…a healer," he stammered.

"All mages have a basic understanding of healing magic," Alistair pointed out.

Alistair's words didn't seem to stir any confidence in the mage, who remained wide eyed at the task in front of him. He pointed a shaking finger at Marcus' wound. "We're not trained for that sort of healing."

Cauthrien understood that this sheltered mage was suffering from the shock and ordeal of being thrown into the fire of battle. She also knew that this mage was Marcus' only chance, if the mage couldn't' help then Marcus would… She immediately squashed that train of thought, refusing to believe or allow it to fester within her. _That wasn't going to happen. He was going to be fine. _

"We're wasting time," Marcus said in-between sharp breaths. "You need to get up to the Tower." He hissed, when he tried to jerk his hand up and point it towards the Tower of Ishal. "You need to light the signal."

"Don't be stupid, Marcus," Cauthrien countered, anger swelling within her at his implication of leaving him behind. _How could he think that? How could he insist that?_ How could he possibly think that they, her, would simply leave him to bleed out. If he wasn't bleeding, she would have slapped him. She settled, for removing one of her hands and grabbing his hand which he had tried to use to point to the Tower. She squeezed it firmly, before placing it gently on the ground. Padfoot bent down, licking his hand which elicited a tight smile on Marcus' paling face.

Cauthrien then returned her still blood soaked hand back to the wound, and her attention back to the startled and possibly traumatized mage. She knew she needed to reach him, to connect with him, and calling him mage, wasn't the best way to do that. She reached into her memory of when Marcus had asked the mage for his name- "Gregory."

The mage turned to her, startled, not expecting her to call him by name.

"Please Gregory," she beseeched him. "You must try."

Gregory, the circle mage, gulped nervously, his staff trembling in his grip, but he slowly nodded, going to Marcus' other side. His hand hovered over the wound that Cauthrien had been applying pressure to, she could hear crackles of energy and wisp of smokes as the mage began muttering the arcane spell.

She looked down to see the bleeding had stopped. She carefully removed her blood soaked fingers to see the wound beginning to close. She didn't know a lot about magic, but she knew enough to know that the wound wasn't completely healed, by the coloring of the skin around it.

When Gregory finished, he let loose a tried breath, his brown eyes, holding astonishment at what he just did. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's only temporary," he explained. "He needs to see a real Healer soon though."

"Thank you, Gregory," Cauthrien said, sincerely, her grey eyes looking to see color begin to return to Marcus' cheeks and face. "Alistair, help me get him up."

The Warden agreed with a nod, coming to Marcus' other side, where the mage was standing. Alistair carefully grabbed Marcus shoulder and placed his other hand on his side while Cauthrien mirroring his position and movement. The two soldiers were able to carefully lift Marcus back onto his feet. Their arms still wrapped around his shoulders when his knees buckled. Her grip didn't falter. After only standing a few seconds with their assistance, he raised his arms gently brushing off her and Alistair's grip.

He took a step forward unassisted, wobbling in place when he brought his feet together. Cauthrien afraid, he might fall over was reaching out to grab him, when he threw up his hands to keep his balance. She wasn't sure if it was the movement or the speed of the moment, or a combination of the two, but whatever it was it caused Marcus to hiss in pain, wincing and closing his eyes as a look of pain flickered across his face. Nonetheless, her hand was extended and ready to grab him if he wasn't able to keep his balance. It wasn't needed.

He slowly put his arms down and very carefully took a few steps, looking as if he was testing the wound and his movement. He shifted weight to his left side and then his right side. Watching him move, and re-establish himself, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker.

When he went to pick up his sword and shield, his back stiffened, and a hiss of pain followed.

Cauthrien made a step forward to pick up the weapons for him, but he waved her off. She acquiesced for the moment, but was ready to render assistance if the task proved too difficult for him. She was sure that the act of bending over was the reason for the sudden pain he was feeling. He snatched them up without another hiss or whimper, straightening up to his full-height, loosely holding his sword in one hand, and sliding the strap of his shield over his shoulder, to free up his other hand.

His scale armor breastplate was caked in blood. Not to mention, the opening of his armor from where the Hurlock had cut through his chainmail. She knew that he needed new armor, and that he was even more vulnerable now, with the open gash in his armor. Cauthrien would make sure he had the proper protection from any darkspawn who might think him an easy mark. She would prove them wrong.

When he looked at them, color had returned to his cheeks, and his eyes regained their sharpness. He acknowledged the mage with a nod. "You have my thanks, Gregory."

Padfoot barked, the mabari's stubby tail wagging, at his master's recovery. Marcus favored his hound with a smile and a gentle tap on the head. "Alistair, Gregory how about you scout up ahead to make sure there are no nasty surprises waiting for us."

Alistair slowly nodded, "Very well, but don't take too long." The senior Warden turned to Gregory, and the two set off towards the Tower. It was now just Cauthrien with Marcus and Padfoot, the latter remaining glued to his master's side.

Cauthrien noticed Marcus' attention was directed at the ground, following his line of sight she was able to see what he was staring at. It was a pool of blood. It had been his blood. He knelt beside it, resting his knees into the soggy earth.

"Marcus is something wrong?" she asked, confused and concerned by his odd behavior.

"This was how my father died," he answered plainly, "Bleeding on the dirty dusty floor of the Larder." Marcus brought his hand to the gash across his abdomen, his fingers tracing his exposed, coloration of skin where his wound had been. "There was no mage, for my father."

Padfoot rested his bulky head on Marcus' knee, before letting out a low whine.

Cauthrien had known of Marcus' family's death. He told her about Howe's treacherous attack and the slaughter of his family. But he hadn't gone into the detail of his family's death. She didn't press. She could only imagine how tough and unbearable it would be to watch your parents die and be helpless to save them.

"I'm so sorry, Marcus," she said, stepping forward, placing her gauntleted hand on his shoulder.

Marcus made a noise in the back of his throat. "I…I could've saved him, but I didn't." He looked over his shoulder, and she was startled to see the pain in his eyes. "I fled."

"Your father would've wanted you to live, Marcus," Cauthrien insisted, not wanting her friend to slip further into this miasma of self-doubt. She was sure there was a storm of emotional turmoil raging within him. She squeezed his shoulder. He didn't respond right away to her. His eyes fixed on the pool of blood soaking and mixing with the mud and continuous fall of rain. The seconds of silence ticked by agonizingly slow for Cauthrien who was unsure what else she could say or do to her suffering friend.

He then suddenly, pushed his knee out of the muddy ground, and when he turned to her. There was no longer any doubt or misery in his expression. That haze had been lifted.

"You saved me, Cauthrien," he said sincerely. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," she replied, trying to downplay the situation. She didn't want to focus on his injury. Because it was a painful reminder of how close he had been to dying. How close she had been to losing him. It was not something she wished to discuss or dwell on.

He must have sensed her discomfort. "We should get moving." He then favored her with a smile as a glint could be seen in his blue eyes. "But, I don't know how useful you'll be without your weapon."

She frowned. Her hands instinctively going to the hilt of her blade, holstered to her back only to find herself grasping at air. She looked to see an amused Marcus. The joke wasn't lost on her. She remembered telling him the same thing just before they left the camp at Ostagar. Looking past him, she spotted her greatsword. It was lying on the soggy ground right where she had left it, beside the pool of blood. She approached _the summer sword_ careful to avoid stepping into the puddle as she picked up the prized sword by the handle. She hefted it back into the holster on her back, before turning to Marcus and Padfoot who were watching her.

"You think its funny?" she asked, aware that Marcus was holding back his laughter at her nearly forgetting her sword.

"I thought it was," he replied honestly, he then turned to his mabari. "What about you, Padfoot?"

Padfoot barked in agreement.

"I mean, you are the soldier after-all," he pointed out.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Meaning I'm trained in combat and can quite easily cut through a legion of darkspawn without breaking a sweat."

Marcus was no longer smiling. "Well then, let's get going."

* * *

><p>Marcus felt pain. It was a burning pain that felt like his wound was being pressed by hot coals. The pain started out just as a prickling of discomfort. Whether it was the exertion of climbing up these stairs or the battle, or the combination of the pair. The pain had escalated itself to excruciating levels. It seemed after every few steps, the searing pain around his wound swelled up. Gregory, the mage had made a few adjustments to his healing spell to try to soften or dull the pain. Due to these spells, it gave him the strength and stamina to move forward.<p>

He had a suspicion that it was not just Gregory's spells that had boosted his strength and stamina. Before he suffered his wound, Marcus had found himself with more strength and stamina to draw from during his battle with the darkspawn on the grounds around the Tower. Usually after only a few minutes of combat, he would begin to lose his energy and become short of breath, but that was not the case. In fact, it felt as if his strength and stamina had increased ten-fold! In all of the battle, and the darkspawn he killed before he was injured, not once had he felt tightness in his chest or a numbing fatigue in his arms. He had the energy to keep fighting. It had been baffling for the average soldier to comprehend, but Marcus surmised that if must have been one of the effects of the Joining. Watching, Alistair wade his way through darkspawn, only seemed to confirm his theory. Nonetheless, he planned to add it to the growing number of questions he had for the Ferelden Commander of the Grey.

It was not just the pain, Marcus had to adjust to. It was the darkspawn. It was a difficult feeling to describe, but he was confident that he could sense them. It was a horrible feeling to adjust it. He wasn't quite sure if he could ever get use to it. It was not in a clear, precise way, of being able to know how many darkspawn lurked behind a certain door. It was more like he could feel a dark taint. In his mind, it would appear like a dark cloud hovering over a certain area. It was a horrible feeling that made him feel sick and violated. It made him cringe.

That wasn't all.

There were also the whispers. The soft, barely heard whispers that would prickle at his ears only for a second before ebbing back in the dark corners of his mind. He was sure it was the darkspawn. It was their hive-like mind, just like Duncan said, and he sometimes tapped into it. It was awful. It made him shiver down to his bones.

"The darkspawn weren't supposed to be here," whispered Alistair. The Warden's whispering shook Marcus from his reflecting reverie and back to their current environment.

It was a gruesome sight. A growing fire dominated the center of the room, while encircling the flames strewn bodies and different appendages. Marcus stopped counting after twenty. Severed heads were put on pikes to add to the disgusting decorations from the darkspawn. The faces were permanently contorted to the last expressions of pain and horror that the guards must have felt before falling to the darkspawn's surprise, and brutal attack. It must have come as a nasty surprise for the men and women stationed at this tower, when the darkspawn emerged from the tunnels they had burrowed under the Tower. They never would have had a chance.

The pungent odor of darkspawn, decay, and burning flesh wafted in the room, hovering over the group like an entropic cloud. In normal cases, it would have probably made Marcus vomit right then and there, but he didn't. Even though his stomach stirred in protest at the smells, he felt no nausea. He could see the queasy looks from the mage and Cauthrien, that made him wonder if it was the taint within him that kept him from being sick from the smell. That or perhaps he was too tired or accustomed to the smell after coming to similar gruesome sights and smells throughout their climb up the tower.

"You could try telling them, they're in the wrong place," Marcus put-in dryly, hastening his steps to leave this room.

Alistair chuckled, but it was Cauthrien who spoke.

"We're sure to have missed the signal."

Marcus turned to his friend, aware that she had been watching him closely since he received that vicious wound from that Alpha hurlock. Since then, in all of the fighting they had undertaken, Cauthrien and Padfoot remained at his side, both watching and protecting him from further harm. Marcus welcomed the company, aware that his skills with sword and shield were above average at best. He was thankful for their concern, and wasn't foolish enough or prideful enough to discard it.

"Then we'll just light the beacon, as soon as we get up there." He turned to Alistair in hopes the Senior Warden would agree with his assessment.

He did, "sounds like a plan."

Even with the pain and the taint within him, Marcus had noticed Cauthrien and Alistair were following his lead, his orders. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought he was leading this mission. Cauthrien, who was now a Lt. in the Ferelden army and Alistair a senior Warden should have both outranked him in this situation. It was like they silently agreed to concede the responsibility and burden of leadership to him.

_Like, he didn't have enough to worry about, _he dryly noted. He looked to the last in their group, a circle mage-Gregory; he no longer looked or acted the anxious sheltered mage thrust into his first battle. Not to say, he still wasn't frightened, because he was, Marcus could see it in the mage's eyes.

"Okay, then let's get moving," he encouraged them, trying his best to inject some confidence in his voice. Marcus took point; his sword bathed in fire. It was a spell from Gregory. So his sword, as well as Alistair's and Cauthrien's served as torches while they tried to navigate their way through the maze of corridors and rooms. Marcus was thankful for Cauthrien's presence. She had taken a tour of the Tower, and had memorized the read-out of the important pathways and rooms that they needed to take. If it wasn't, for her, Marcus was sure that they would have ended up lost.

Padfoot whined.

Marcus looked down at his beloved war-hound, who stood so close to his side that Padfoot would occasionally bump into his leg or hip. "What is it, boy?" He watched his hound go to one of the doors, sniffing the air, while his heavy paws scratched against the door. He let out another whine.

"What's gotten into him?" Alistair asked.

"I don't know," Marcus answered, trying to discern his hound's strange behavior.

The only times he had seen Padfoot act in this particular way was when he was trying to play with the penned hounds back at his estate in Highever. His father had more than a dozen, when Marcus would visit them with Padfoot, his hound would whine and scratch at the gates of the mabari pens, because he wanted to play and interact with them…

"Cauthrien?" he called over his shoulder. "Does this tower have a kennel?"

"Yes," she answered. "And I think your hound just found it."

He could detect the amusement in her voice, Marcus' lips twitched. He petted Padfoot's head before grabbing him around the collar. "Come on, boy, stand back."

Padfoot reluctantly stepped away from the door. Alistair flanked one side with the mage behind him, while Marcus, Cauthrien, and a still insistent Padfoot took the other side. He looked to see they were in the proper positions, before Marcus gave Alistair the nod.

The Grey Warden kicked down the door, storming into the room with Gregory following right behind, ready to offer cover and protection with an arsenal of spells. Cauthrien and Marcus followed suit, with Padfoot at his heels. But their tactics and cover were for naught. The room was clear. There were no darkspawn in sight.

They had indeed entered the Tower's kennel. Pens and cages lined the circular room. Marcus looked around. He was unable to dismiss the soft clicking, and hissing that was beginning to creep into his consciousness.

It was the darkspawn. They were close. They were very close.

He noticed the strewn mabari corpses, a testament to the darkspawn savagery. Many of the corpses had been torn open with claws and what looked to be teeth, clear signs that the darkspawn had been eating the hounds.

Padfoot whined in mourning, the war-hound's black eyes soft but focused on the corpses of his brethren. Marcus knew the mabari were intelligent enough to mourn. He watched his hound tentatively approach one of the fallen hounds. Padfoot's head brushed up against the hound's chewed up leg.

Sudden yipping and barking broke through the darkness. Marcus spun around to see the cages at the far corner were full of live mabari hounds. He and the others were quick to approach these cages. At first glance they looked unscathed by the creatures. Not wanting to take any chances, Marcus looked closer and was thankful when he couldn't see or detect any wounds or taint with the surviving mabari. He looked around at all the other empty cages, realizing that there were four dozen hounds to start, but only these six survived.

"Try to find a lever," he instructed the others. "There must be a lever that controls the cages."

They began searching the room, for the lever. The dim lights of the torches positioned along the walls, and the fire that bathed their swords, providing the only light in the room.

Marcus hit something with his foot. He looked down, lowering his flaming sword to see what he had almost tripped over. It was a mabari corpse; the darkspawn had slashed the poor hound open, along its ribs, and blood was still streaming out of the long, nasty looking gash, pooling the hound in its own blood, bits of its innards and organs were found strewn around the body. Marcus was sure he could see teeth imprints along the flesh where the wound had occurred.

He spotted a footstep in the blood, looking up to see another, and another, the last one barely leaving an imprint, but it was good enough to get a sense of direction. He looked up to see the footprints led to a door that was on the complete opposite side of the room, from the door they took to get in.

"I found it!" Alistair called out, but Marcus didn't have time to turn to see where Alistair had found the lever, because the door in front of him burst open, revealing dozens of darkspawn who came streaming out. Marcus, who was directly in their path, raised his sword and shield to prepare for the onslaught, knowing that he needed to hold his own until the others could reach him.

Then there was the sound of barking and yipping from the remaining mabari. Alistair must have pulled the lever, since they came rushing out of their cages and straight towards the darkspawn, intercepting them before they could reach Marcus. Cauthrien, Alistair, Gregory, and Padfoot were quick to enter the fray of fighting.

Marcus found himself matched up with a genlock, who greeted him with a vicious growl and a series of thrusts with its daggers. He was able to dodge and sidestep the swift strikes, before countering with his own assault, of shield and sword. He relied on his power and strength to try to cancel out the rogue's agility. His plan worked, when his shield connected with the genlock's chin, he followed up his shield bash, with his sword, in one fluid motion he disconnected the genlock's head from its body.

He didn't have time to see where the genlock's head rolled to, since he found a trio of hurlocks advancing on him. He let loose a breath, ignoring the growing searing pain from his earlier wound .

Padfoot, however made his presence known, intercepting one of the hurlocks, pouncing on the darkspawn, causing one to fall to the ground. Padfoot landed on top, and with his massive heavy paws was able slash at the hurlock's exposed throat, killing the darkspawn quickly.

That left the remaining pair to Marcus. He lowered his shoulder, leading with his shield, his eyes just above his shield so that he could see where he was charging. Marcus rushed at the two hurlocks, his shield smashing into their shields, but with his momentum he was able to get the edge, as they were the ones to lose their balance, stumbling backwards. He seized the opportunity, thrusting his sword into the chest of one, its tattered armor unable to deflect the penetration of the blade.

He raised his shield to shield himself from the other hurlock who tried to take advantage of his position, but Marcus was able to deflect the attack. With a quick tug he was able to yank his sword out of the darkspawn's chest, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. He pushed off his shield, to dislodge the other hurlock's sword, before decapitating the darkspawn in a swift, cutting arc with his sword.

"That's the last of them," reported Cauthrien.

Marcus winced from a sudden flare of pain from his earlier abdominal wound. He grabbed one of the nearby cages to steady himself, leaning against the pen trying to endure through the pain. His eyes closed, he gritted his teeth at the burning sensation that went up the sides of his torso and chest.

"Good," Marcus grinded out, between clenched teeth. When the last bit of searing pain ebbed, he exhaled. Opening his eyes to see he was the target of inquisitive glances. Padfoot came to his side, nudging his knee with his bulky head, before letting out a whine. Marcus replied to his hound's kindness by scratching him behind the ears.

Cauthrien stepped forward. "It's the wound." It wasn't a question.

"I'll be fine," he said, trying to wave off her concern.

"Not if you cannot move," Cauthrien pointed out.

"I can move," he replied, a bit too gruffly. He couldn't help it, the pain that was continuing to reside around his wound, was making him a bit short tempered. "You could go up the stairs, to light the beacon, and I'll wait down here."

"There could be more darkspawn," Gregory, the mage commented.

Marcus and Alistair shared a look. They both knew it wasn't a possibility. There were more darkspawn. They could both feel their presence. Marcus' senses were not as fine tuned as Alistair, but he had a suspicion that the darkspawn were amassing in numbers on the earlier floors.

"We need to go together," Cauthrien said, reaffirming their earlier plans.

Marcus knowing it was pointless to argue, since they were wasting valuable time. He relented from his earlier suggestion, with a terse nod.

Cauthrien satisfied with his change of heart, approached him. "Good, then that's that." She reached out her hand to him.

He took it, shifting his weight and balance which had been leaning against the mabari cage to steady himself. Besides the pain in his abdominal wound, he felt ready to move forward. He wasn't foolish enough to believe it would last. He knew it was only a matter of over exerting himself, before the pain would begin to swell and sear his chest and torso. He wouldn't be surprised if climbing the stairs to the next level would be the thing that would bring back the searing pain.

"Okay, let's light this beacon," Marcus said.

* * *

><p>Like a burning sun, the top of the Tower of Ishal was ablaze, the bright light was a stark contrast to the dark skies that enveloped the glowing blaze.<p>

Loghain looked out at the burning of the top of Tower. From his vantage point, he had watched the battle between darkspawn and man unfold, and came to the startling realization, of how wrong they had been. The King's forces were being overwhelmed if not completely eradicated by the pressing darkspawn. The armies of the darkspawn could be seen through the vastness of torches they carried, which went as far as the eye could see.

The tactics designed for this battle would be useless to execute now. The 'hammer and anvil' strategy of luring the forces to engage a frontal assault of your forces, while maneuvering the rest of your armed forces to attack the enemy from behind, thus sandwiching them between your armies. It was a sound strategy, but if they were to implement it now, Loghain's forces would be engulfed by the darkspawn. There were too many. It would be impossible for him and his forces to successfully sandwich the darkspawn between his forces and King Cailan's.

The tactical decision was to leave -to retreat the field. To spare the large bulk of the army under him and go up north.

Loghain hesitated. His blue eyes could still see banners of Ferelden flying. He could still see men fighting valiantly against the darkspawn. He was unsure of the King's location or survival; in the chaos of battle it was quite easy to lose a single person in a mob of violence. This had been why Loghain had been so adamant in having Cailan with him, to lead the final charge.

Cailan had balked that idea in favor of fighting beside the Grey Wardens in a glorious battle. Loghain may have had his spats and arguments with Cailan, but he was still the King. He may have been a young man, eager for war, but he was still Loghain's king. He was the husband to Loghain's daughter. If he lived, it should be Loghain's duty to save him.

However, if Loghain rushed his army into the fray, there was no guarantee they could stem the tide of darkspawn. There was no way of knowing if they could reach the King or if even the King was still alive. If Loghain committed his army and they were routed, then Ferelden would be practically defenseless from further incursion by the darkspawn. Who would then lead the remnants of Fereldans to victory? His daughter, Anora was strong, confident, but she was no soldier, she was no general.

What of Howe and his army? He controlled the armies of Amaranthine and the majority of Highever's forces. If Loghain committed his troops here at Ostagar and they fell, Howe would be left unchecked. He could march on Denerim and be crowned king! Loghain didn't want to think what would happen to his beloved Ferelden, if Howe was put responsible to govern it, nor did the father want to think what would happen to his daughter…

Throughout all this silent debate only seconds passed for the Teyrn of Gwaren while he watched the battle unfold. It was quickly turning into a disaster.

"Ser, the signal has been given."

Loghain hesitated, aware that the eyes of his officers were all on him. The fact that they hadn't already charged when the signal was given, may have signaled that they too had their doubts. They were hesitating just like he was.

He closed his eyes, accepting the decision that needed to be made. It wouldn't be the popular choice. But it was the logical choice. It was the right choice. It was the only choice. In order to save Ferelden, he would have to sacrifice her king.

"Sound," Loghain began, belaying the sigh that threatened to escape his lips, "The retreat."

"But ser?" the officer stammered, "the king?"

Loghain lunged at the officer, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him closer. "Do as I say," he growled.

The officer blanched, before wriggling out of his grip, no doubt, trying to rescue his dignity. The officer then half bowed, before relaying his orders to the officers who would relay them to the soldiers.

Loghain's gaze went upwards into the sky, towards the burning tower.

"Has there been any news from the tower?" Loghain asked, his officer.

The officer stepped forward, wringing his hands in front of him, "Ser, we've received reports that the darkspawn overwhelmed our position at the Tower."

For a split second, he seriously considered marshaling a portion of his forces to relieve the Tower, in hopes of saving Marcus and Cauthrien. However, he knew just like with Cailan, it would be a waste. It was a gesture rooted in emotion and not logic. He was left to wonder how if the darkspawn had overwhelmed their position along the Tower, then could the beacon have been lit?

The only sound conclusion he could assume was that perhaps Marcus and Cauthrien had sought refuge towards the upper levels once the darkspawn had shown themselves. They made their last stand on the topmost floor, to light the beacon, to help Ferelden to victory.

"Officer," Loghain interrupting his own musings, his eyes never leaving the tower. "Were there any survivors from the attack?"

"Just a guard, your Grace."

"I would very much like to speak with him." Loghain instructed, seeing from the corner of his eye the officer bowing and leaving. He lofted a heavy sigh. He could only hope that Marcus and Cauthrien's deaths came swiftly in their fight with the darkspawn. This wasn't the time for him to properly reflect the loss of two of his most talented and promising squires. There would be time for that.

He began his long walk back to where his officers were relaying his earlier orders to junior officers and to soldiers. He could already see the large number of his army slowly but surely begin the retreat up north. He gave one final look over his shoulder at the battle of Ostagar. It was not of Maric or Anora that Loghain thought of when he realized that he could not save Cailan. His thoughts were of Rowan…

_Maker forgive me, for what must be done._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Even though there is AU elements in this story, some things (Loghain's decision at Ostagar) are better off canon. Hopefully, I did Loghain's character justice in his final thoughts and reflections before he made his choice to leave the field. **

**Next Chapter: The Aftermath of Ostagar**

**Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review.**

**Until next time, **

**-Spectre4hire**

**P.S: My inbox is open if you have any questions or comments. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to 'Mike3207,' dominicgrim, olivegbg, and 'guest,' for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated.**

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Location: Lothering, Ferelden**

_Finally, _Marcus thought, looking up ahead to see the outline of Lothering. He, Alistair, Cauthrien, and the apostate Morrigan, the latter proved her worth by successfully guiding them through the maze of wilderness before reaching the remnants of the Imperial Highway.

The Highway they were now walking on, that was leading them to the Arling of Lothering. Marcus yearned for civilization, not wilderness. He was tired of the Korcari Wilds, and being constantly attacked by wild animals. They set out from Flemeth's hut less than a week ago. It had taken them several days to make the trek through the Wilds.

Marcus was thankful for finally reaching civilization. He was also anxious. Since they had set out from the Wilds, his diverse group of companions had all agreed to Lothering, to be their first stop along their journey. Now that they were arriving to the Arling, it led to the question-Where do they go from here?

Alistair was favoring to go to Redcliffe, to see Arl Eamon. Cauthrien wanted to return to Denerim, she wanted an audience with Teyrn Loghain. The choice was vested in his decision. The fortunes of their group were tied to him. He was the leader. It was a notion that Alistair was comfortable with back at the Tower of Ishal. Alistair, by all accounts the senior Warden had thrust the burden of responsibility and leadership of the Grey Wardens onto Marcus after Ostagar. Marcus didn't even want to be a Grey Warden. He only wanted justice for his parents. He wanted freedom from the Wardens.

Now, it fell on his shoulders to rally a country, to rally an army in the hopes of thwarting this Blight. It was a terrifying thought that put his stomach in knots. In the past few days, he tried to push those fears and anxieties to the back of his mind, but now that they had arrived in Lothering, he was confronted once more with the reality that it was up to him to lead his companions forward.

It was now Alistair and himself. They were all that remained of the Grey Wardens. The loss of Duncan and the rest of the Ferelden Grey Wardens at Ostagar had been devastating to Alistair. The death of the Wardens meant nothing to Marcus. It stirred no feelings or emotions within him. He was indifferent. He neither cared nor did he grieve the loss of Duncan or the others. He held nothing for the Commander of the Grey besides anger and bitterness at how he had swindled Marcus into joining the Grey Wardens. He was smart enough to keep these thoughts and reflections to himself. He may not have liked or appreciated Duncan, but he respected Alistair.

The Grey Warden had been melancholy for most of their journey since leaving Flemeth's hut. Marcus had tried to approach the Grey Warden, and had managed some success in having Alistair open up about Duncan. In their limited talks, Marcus had been quick to surmise that Duncan played a fatherly role in Alistair's life even though he had only known Duncan for six or so months. It caused Marcus to wonder on Alistair's own up-brining, if the Warden could become so attached to Duncan in short span of time, it didn't portray Alistair's childhood in a positive light. Marcus made a mental note to further talk with the Grey Warden in hopes of better being able to learn more about him.

He looked over to see Cauthrien was walking quietly beside Padfoot. She was unusually quiet and had been for most of their trek. Marcus was sure the news of Ostagar was the reason. The only time she seemed to show emotion these last few days was either anger or annoyance which she directed at Alistair or Morrigan. At the former because he continued to badmouth Loghain, which was something Cauthrien could not stand. She was quick and adamant in her defense of the Teyrn of Gwaren. While quick to cast the blame at the Duncan and the other Wardens, this would result in the two trading barbs for a few minutes before going into a stony silence.

For Marcus Cousland, he kept quiet at the headache that the two's arguments were becoming. He was smart to keep out of it. Personally, he didn't know what to think about Loghain's decision at Ostagar. He knew enough about Loghain to trust his judgment. That confidence wavered, with the unsettled feeling in his stomach at the thought of the Teyrn simply leaving Ferelden's King-Cailan and the armies too die. He tried to remind himself that he didn't have all the facts for the battle. There must have been a reason for Loghain to make his decision. Surely, there was something the Teyrn saw during the battle that caused him to alter his tactics and to retreat the field.

Marcus looked over at his friend-Cauthrien, and was sure she too was wondering the same thing. It made sense that she wanted to return to Denerim. She wanted an audience with the Teyrn, she wanted an explanation. She needed an explanation.

Marcus looked over his shoulder to the last and most mysterious of his companions, the apostate and supposed daughter of Flemeth-Morrigan. He had to admit she was easy on the eyes with her long raven hair, sharp amber eyes, her lithe form and her revealing choice of attire that accentuated her cleavage. However for all her beauty she was haughty and callous. She was quick to let loose a hurtful barb at Alistair for nothing more but her own amusement. It was clear to Marcus that her isolation with her mother in the Korcari Wilds had made her someone ill-equipped in dealing with others. What she lacked in social skills, she made up for in confidence and talent. In their few skirmishes with wild wolves, she deftly was able to take care of the burden of fighting, with a wide array of skills in the arcane arts.

Marcus was wary of mages, and even more so with apostates. Even though he had to begrudgingly admit if it was not for Flemeth's intervention he would have been killed up at the Tower of Ishal. Morrigan's mother had also healed all of his cuts, scrapes, and wounds from the battle, including the one on his abdomen, which had been causing him a tremendous amount of pain. He now felt no pain. There was no scar, no coloration of skin. He was completely healed. For that he was thankful. Just as he was thankful for Morrigan's navigation skills as she had successfully led them out of the Korcari Wilds.

He was not the only one. Cauthrien shared no love for apostates, and didn't seem to keen in trusting Morrigan. It was up to Marcus to keep the peace between the diversity of his companions. He had diffused several arguments already, and was wary of the bleakness that lay ahead of him. If these past few days were but a glimpse into his future, he stifled a groan at the headache that would become, if he was forced to continue to play peacekeeper between them. To make matters worse, they were still looking at him to lead, to make the choices, to carry out decisions. He didn't know the first thing of what to do or where to go, but that didn't seem to dishearten the others. They seemed ready and willing to accept his choices.

He continued to walk along the Imperial Highway. Marcus was thankful for the rare moment of silence between his companions and thankful to the Tevinter Imperium who built this Highway centuries ago. Even though it was crumbling and parts were left in utter ruin, it was still a satisfactory road and much better means to travel then cutting a swath through wild vegetation and growth from the Korcari Wilds.

"We don't have that kind of money!"

Marcus was shaken from his musings. Looking ahead, he noticed a group of armed men, who had surrounded a pair of men. The group of men didn't seem too friendly. The two men had their backs turned to Marcus, so he couldn't see their faces, but it was the familiarity of their voice that caught his attention.

"Bandits!" hissed Cauthrien, angrily.

"What should we do?" Alistair asked.

"We should kill them," Morrigan pointed out. "They are fools to stand in our way."

"Get ready," Marcus whispered over his shoulder, stepping forward towards the group of bandits and the pair of men they were preying on.

"Then you can't get by," replied the lead bandit in an oily voice, with a tight lipped smirk.

"Silly me, I must have left my coin-purse on the battlefield."

Marcus froze. He immediately recognized the voice of the man with the glib response. Looking closer, he could see the man was dressed in leathers and had sheathed two daggers. It was Garrett Hawke. Marcus had served with him and his brother during the Battle of Southron Hills. Marcus looked to see the man standing next to Garret was tall and bulky, dressed in heavy armor which looked to be commissioned for the Ferelden army. He had a greatsword strapped to his back. This was Carver Hawke.

Marcus made his presence known, stepping alongside the Hawke Brothers. "What seems to be the problem?"

His sudden appearance startled the bandits who had been transfixed on Garrett and his brother. They were quick to notice not only Marcus but Padfoot, Alistair, Cauthrien, and Morrigan who hung back, making it impossible for the bandits to surround them.

"There's a toll, you see," the lead bandit said, without missing a beat, his beady brown eyes surveying Marcus. "You need to pay the toll if you wish to enter the town."

"I see," Marcus said, "What's the toll?"

"Twenty silvers," answered the bandit.

Marcus frowned. "And if we don't have the money?"

The bandit crossed his arms, directing a sneer at Marcus. "Then you don't get through."

"Well that's a problem," Marcus said, careful to keep his tone calm. "My friends and I need to get through."

"Then pay the toll."

"No," Marcus answered.

It was clear his answer caught the bandits' off-guard. He could see from the corner of his eyes that the two nearest him were pulling out their daggers.

"Very well," the leader shrugged. "We'll pick the coin off your corpse."

"Try it."

Fighting between Marcus and his companions coupled with the Hawke Brothers against the bandits ensued. Within minutes of the fighting, it became abundantly clear that these bandits were hardly skilled in combat. They were use to easier marks. They were use to refugees and peasants.

The bandits' numbers which started at eight were quickly cut down to three. The Leader who had been engaged in combat with Carver quickly jumped backwards, waving his arms for peace.

"Wait, wait!" he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "We can negotiate!"

"Now they want to be diplomats!" exclaimed an amused Garrett.

Marcus could see the panic in the leader's eyes. He could hear the desperate plea in his tone. "I'm listening."

"You can pass," the leader said.

"How generous of him," Alistair deadpanned.

Marcus remained silent, studying the bruised bandit, who stood amidst a pile of his own comrades who were now corpses. Marcus had all the power. He had the advantage. He didn't like to fight, but he also couldn't let these bandits continue to prey on innocent refugees who were trying to escape the darkspawn.

"I have a counter offer," Marcus began. "You donate to us what you've collected so far."

The bandit sighed, untying the coin-purse from his belt and handing it to him. Marcus took it with a smile and nod, noticing the look of pure loathing in the leader's brown eyes at the exchange.

"Thank you for the donation," Marcus smiled, weighing the purse in his hand. He was sure there at least forty silvers in the purse. He knew that he and the others would need every copper they could get.

"And your agreement to leave," Marcus finished.

"Never," spat the bandit, who charged Marcus but Carver was there to intercept the leader and was quickly able to subdue him, cleaving him right through his leather armor. The leader toppled to the ground, reaching Marcus' feet, bleeding, but dead. The others were quick to fall too, one by Cauthrien's blade and the other from a particular nasty looking spell from Morrigan.

"Search their bodies," Marcus ordered. "Get anything of value that we can." Without even knowing if the others were following through, Marcus bent down to check the leader, quickly finding another coin-purse on his belt and opening it up, Marcus found a sovereign and some silvers. _Bastard, _Marcus cursed, realizing the leader had tried to dupe him.

"Ohhh, a shiny new dagger," Garrett said, producing the weapon from one of the dead bandits.

"I found some poultices," Alistair called out; the warden was crouched over one of the corpses.

Marcus nodded, "collect all their weapons, I'm sure we can sell them in town."

"We should also inform who's ever in charge that we dealt with the bandits," Cauthrien observed. "I'm sure there was a bounty on them."

Marcus agreed with his friend's sound logic. Alistair and Marcus were given the burden of carrying the extra weapons which turned out to be four daggers, two swords, an axe, a shield, and a cross bow. Marcus was hopeful that these weapons could collect them another sovereign or two. If they were to travel north, then they would need all the money they could get.

"Thanks, Lord Cousland," Carver said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "I'm not sure what would have happened if you all didn't intervene."

"They would've tried to kill us, brother," Garret pointed out, cheerfully.

Marcus had been with the Hawke brothers long enough to know that the two were about to start squabbling, so he quickly stepped in, hoping to distract them with an easy enough question.

"What happened to you two?"

"Ostagar," Carver said bitterly.

"You two were at Ostagar?" asked Cauthrien, stepping towards them.

"Yeah," Garret answered, the usual jovial and sarcastic rogue was surprisingly stoic in tone and demeanor.

"It was awful," Carver said, stepping in front of his brother towards Cauthrien. "We didn't think we were going to survive."

"How did you?" asked a curious Marcus, ignoring Carver's obvious infatuation with Cauthrien.

"Luck," Garrett answered. "Which we won't be testing again, we're gonna get our mother and sister and get out of this place."

Carver surprisingly nodded with his brother's assessment. "Yeah, that's right. The sooner the better, I say."

"Where are you going to go?"

It was clear the two hadn't thought that far if their clueless looks were anything to go by. Their presence and uncertainty provided Marcus with an idea. It was too tempting to ignore. He was too desperate to pass it up.

"We're heading north, you're welcome to join us," he offered. "We could use your skills."

"Really?" asked Carver.

"Yeah," Marcus said, silently pleased with Carver's reaction, but he could see that Garrett was going to need more convincing. "Your mother and sister can travel with us, safety in numbers right?"

"What is it that you need our skills for?" asked Garret suspiciously.

Marcus knowing that he needed their help, decided honesty was his best solution. "I'm a Grey Warden," he tried his best to keep any distaste out of his tone, before gesturing to his companions. "It is up to us, to try to rally Ferelden's defenses against the darkspawn."

"You can count me in."

"Not so fast, brother," Garrett said firmly. "We can't just gallivant around Ferelden with mother and Bethany."

Carver frowned, at this reminder, shoulders sagging in defeat, while a look of resentment crossed his face.

"Tell you what," Marcus said, stepping in. "How about you talk it over with your family. We're not going to be leaving Lothering for a few hours, so if you decide to come with us, you can come find us, and if you don't, then we'll just take our leave as planned."

Garrett looked to be mulling over his offer, before finally nodding. "Fair enough," before he turned to his brother. "Come on Carver, mother and Bethany will be worried sick. We should get home." The rogue led his younger brother away, but not before the younger Carver glanced over his shoulder at Marcus and the others. Marcus recognized the look of longing on the younger Hawke's face. He knew that he had Carver's willingness, but that wouldn't be enough. Marcus could tell that the Hawkes were a close knit family, and he doubted, they would allow themselves to be separated from each other, especially if danger was involved.

"Do you think they'll join us?" asked Alistair.

"We can only hope," Marcus answered honestly, unsure if his path would cross with the Hawkes again.

* * *

><p>The Lothering Chantry was packed with refugees. Bustling brothers and sisters of the Chantry were diligently trying to attend to all of the misplaced families. They tried to provide them with shelter, some food, and a distraction of the threat that was looming over them-the darkspawn.<p>

It was a depressing environment.

Marcus walked past the pews, seeing children playing quietly in one corner, ignorant of the troubles and trials that they were partaking in. Other children were too aware of the dangers of the darkspawn, as they cried out for fallen siblings, relatives, and even parents who had been unsuccessful in escaping the foul clutches of the darkspawn.

Moving past the children, he noticed a cluster of refugees, all of them were women. They were holding one another, while sobbing into their shoulders. He could hear their anguish cries of the names of their husbands who were killed in Ostagar. These widows were taking comfort in the arms and company of strangers in an attempt to try to soothe the wrenching pain of having to deal with the loss of their beloved husbands.

The pews of the Chantry were all filled with faithful Andrastians, heads bowed, hands clasped in front of them, praying fervently for protection and guidance to the Maker and his Bride. Amidst their prayers were terrifying whimpers and soft murmurs as some recited different parts of the Chant in hopes to find strength and assurance in the religious text.

The only order and leadership of Lothering was coming from the Templars and the Revered Mother. It seemed that the Arl of Lothering had already moved north with his armies after Ostagar. Ser Bryant was the commanding Templar and upon telling him that Marcus and his companions had dealt with the bandits, they were handsomely rewarded.

His purpose for entering the Chantry was he had hoped to get some information about what was happening in not just Lothering, but Ferelden. Morrigan, who had no interest in entering the Chantry was waiting outside for him and the others. Wary of the high number of Templars, Marcus had Padfoot wait outside with her. He was aware of the Templars skills so he did not want to dally longer than expected.

His meeting with the Revered Mother bore little fruit, besides her attempt at trying to collect a tithe from him. She provided him with limited information, most of which he had already pieced together himself.

With Morrigan waiting outside, he wanted to leave and perhaps try their luck at Dane's Refuge, hopeful that gossip at the tavern could get him better insight than the Revered Mother. Before he could leave he had to collect his two companions, Alistair and Cauthrien. The former was talking with Ser Donnall, A Redcliffe knight, who Alistair knew, and the latter had excused herself so that she could pray.

Marcus was aware that both of them were annoyed at him. Before entering the Chantry, they had witnessed an argument between a chantry sister and a merchant. Marcus had sided with the oily merchant, instead of the stuck-up sister. He had done it purely out of practically. They needed resources, and the merchant could provide them with just that. He also gave them a sovereign and a suitable discount of his wares. He also bought up their weapons they had taken from the bandits.

Morrigan had applauded his decision. Her approval only seemed to harden Alistair and Cauthrien's resolve in objecting to his decision. Thankfully, he had been able to smoothly sate their annoyance at him, after explaining to them the reasons of why he did it. He left out the detail, that he did feel a sense of satisfaction at denying that sister. Nor did he comment that his lack of faith and bitterness with the Chantry helped him in siding with the merchant. Those were details that were better off not said.

The experience was something Marcus would surely learn from. He realized that his companions were of different personalities and that he had to handle them differently and cautiously. He needed their support, so he couldn't jeopardize their trust or respect by doing something they would disagree and disprove of. It would be an exhausting juggling of personalities, but Marcus didn't expect anything less from the burden of leadership that they had so eagerly put upon him.

Marcus spotted Ser Cauthrien, who was towards the front. The Gwaren soldier was kneeling before the flame of Andraste, her head bowed, and her hands clasped together. Marcus silently approached his friend, stopping at a respectable distance as to not interrupt her praying. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and his mouth shut, not wanting his prejudice against the Chantry and the Maker to come out while his friend was praying. He respected her belief and faith, even if he could no longer follow the faith of the Chant.

He only had to wait another moment or so as Cauthrien finished her prayers with a vocal, "amen," before standing up from her kneeling position. She turned to him; any annoyance she may have shown or shared for him before entering the Chantry was gone.

"How did your talk with the Revered Mother go?"

He shook his head.

She didn't let the disappointing news have an effect on her expression. She gestured over her shoulder to the flame of Andraste which was surrounded by dozens of candles.

"They're lit by loved ones who lost someone."

Marcus nodded, he was aware of the practice.

She approached the table, her fingers lingering at the base of a handful of candles that were off to the side. "When you light them, you send a prayer to the Maker in hopes he will receive your lost loved ones with affection."

Marcus nodded again, unsure what she was getting at.

"I lit these," she said softly, she gently grabbed one of the candles and carefully removed it away from the others. "For Teyrn Cousland," she put the candle down and picked up another one, "the Teyrna," she repeated the process for Fergus, Oriana, and Oren, signaling out each candle that she lit and placing them closer together and around the central fire that always remained lit for Andraste.

There was a sudden lurch in his stomach. Followed by a painful thump from his heart behind his ribs, memories from the attack of Highever began to bubble up. He closed his eyes. His hands gripping the back end of the pew to steady himself from the painful wave of emotions that washed over him. After a few seconds of silence as he tried to regain his control of his emotions. He opened his eyes to see she was watching him closely, waiting for him to respond.

He may have lost faith in the Maker, but Cauthrien's thoughtful actions made him realize he would never lose faith in his friends. "Thank you," he said, his voice traveling just above a whisper.

She patted his gauntleted hand. "May they walk at the side with the Maker for all eternity."

Marcus added nothing to her prayer. For him, there was nothing he wanted to say or direct at the Maker that would be considered kind or considerate, so in respecting his friend's own faith, he remained silent.

"You know, Marcus," she said, delicately choosing her words as they walked towards the exit. "Your family hasn't truly left us."

Marcus resisted the urge to give his friend, a decisive snort, he settled for a neutral question. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it is," she answered, turning to face him. "I see your parents in front of me."

Marcus remained quiet; puzzled at what she was referring to and unsure where she was leading him with her last remark.

"It goes beyond the superficial means," she clarified, signaling to his hair and eyes, two of the more recognizable traits that he received from his mother and father. "You have your father's charisma, his strength to inspire us to believe." She then reached out, gently placing her gauntleted hand on his chest-over his heart. "You have your mother's heart as well, her compassion for all life."

He bowed his head, his blue eyes on her gauntleted hand which covered his heart. "Thank you, Cauthrien." He knew in all his despair and bitterness that he had forgotten what his father told him, before he died_-"We're leaving the best of ourselves behind in you."_

He cleared the lump in his throat. "I needed to hear that."

She smiled, slowly removing her hand from his chest, before turning in direction and attention back to the exit, to the Chantry doors where Alistair was waving them over.

* * *

><p>"You killed them!"<p>

Marcus, Alistair, and Cauthrien were out behind Dane's Refuge, in their company were a handful of corpses, who had presented themselves as servants of the Teyrn Arl Howe. The thought of that usurping bastard using his father's title and claiming to be the Teyrn of Highever was enough to work Marcus into a fighting frenzy. It was only heightened when they revealed themselves to be looking for Grey Wardens matching his description. No doubt, Howe had realized that Marcus was not among the corpses of his family at Cousland castle, discerning that he had escaped with Duncan, the Grey Warden Commander.

The lay sister who had just spoken to them, had interrupted their conversation, she wanted peace. Marcus wanted them in pieces. The fight was brief but bloody. After killing them, and paying off the owner of the Refuge, with a few silvers, Marcus, and the others dragged the corpses behind the Refuge, and were now stripping the corpses of their armor, weapons, and other valuables the men might have been carrying with them.

Marcus was surprised at how casual he could rummage through the corpse's belongings, before stripping him of his weapons and armor. There was no consciousness dilemma or nausea that was attached to the act. Something that people might think or believe. It was simply necessary. It was an act that he didn't try to over-think.

He was crouched down beside the leader, having retrieved the man's vicious looking war-axe, that Marcus knew could get them at least two sovereigns. He brought his fingers along the blade. It was very sharp.

"They had surrendered!"

Marcus bit back a sigh, looking over his shoulder to see the lay sister was standing over him, her arms crossed under her chest. "They were trying to kill us."

"They would offer us no such mercy, if our roles were reversed," Cauthrien put-in for support of Marcus. She had removed the greaves and gauntlets from her corpse. Her fingers were now on the straps of the silverite chest plate

Marcus stood from his crouching position, his eyes on the lay sister, whose chantry robes had splashes of blood from the battle. In the skirmish, she proved quite skilled with those daggers that had been concealed in her robes, but were now holstered to her back. He was sure those were skills that the Chantry didn't teach, meaning that she had learned them somewhere else. He knew she had spent time in Orlais because of her accent. He could only wonder what she did in Orlais that would allow to be so skillfully trained in the art of combat…

"If I recall correctly, I remember seeing you finishing off the last of his men."

She opened and closed her mouth, fumbling for a response, for a justification of what she did. "I…I couldn't help it."

Marcus was sure he saw a certain flicker in her blue eyes at her remark. A look of joy or pleasure perhaps at what she had accomplished by killing those goons, but he couldn't be sure. A certain thrill of adrenaline that could only be found in the rush of battle.

"Well, it was appreciated," Alistair chipped in. She had come to his aide when one of the goons had disarmed Alistair. She delivered a clean cut across the man's throat from behind. It was a messy kill. It was also another impressive display of her combat skills.

She offered the Grey Warden, a warm smile that further highlighted the lay sister's beauty. "I am Leliana," she said, bowing her head in greeting.

"Charmed," Marcus said dryly, dusting off his hands. He turned his attention back to what he and the others had collected from Howe's goons. It seemed to be a good haul. He was sure that they could get a handful of sovereigns for all of this.

"Marcus, this might suit you," Cauthrien said, holding up the silverite chest-plate, she rapped the center of the chest-plate with her knuckles.

Marcus took the offered chest-plate with a nod, examining it the piece of armor for any cracks. He ran his fingers across the smooth surface of the metal. "This should do." He agreed, gently putting it off to the side, for him to change into.

"Where should we sell the rest of this stuff?" asked Alistair gathering up some pieces of armor.

"Our merchant friend," answered Marcus, without hesitation. The reminder of the unsavory merchant, brought frowns to both Alistair and Cauthrien.

"Excuse me," Leliana said.

"Yes?" asked Marcus, who had been hoping that by ignoring her, she would leave them alone.

"Those men said you're a Grey Warden," she observed.

Marcus remained silent, studying her expression for any signal of who she was or what she was after.

She took his silence in stride. "That means you'll be killing darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?"

"I don't really know what Wardens do," Marcus answered honestly, and brusquely.

"I know after what happened, you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

Marcus wasn't sure what was more annoying- Her insistence that she was coming or her belief that she could simply push her company on him and the others.

"But you're a lay sister," Cauthrien pointed out, respectfully.

"I joined the Chantry to live a life of religious contemplation," Leliana explained. "But, I am no priest, not even an initiate."

"So why do you want to come with us?" asked Alistair, the other Warden, who was equally confused of her motives of wanting to come with them.

"The Maker told me to," she answered, without missing a beat or even a blink.

Marcus raised his brows, tentatively taking a step back away from her. She was clearly unbalanced if she believed she could communicate with the Maker. The last thing Marcus wanted was a zealot of the Chantry.

However, her bizarre answer didn't seem to scare off Cauthrien. The faithful Andrastian actually stepped closer to the Lay Sister. "Can you elaborate?"

"I-I know that sounds…"

"Crazy?" Alistair put in.

"Yes," she said, her cheeks beginning to turn red. "You must think I'm crazy."

"I do," Marcus confirmed.

"It's true!" she replied fervently. "I had a dream… a vision!"

"I thought we were full up on crazy," Alistair said lightly.

"Look at the people here," she pointed out, gesturing to the refugees who were squatting outside the front of Dane's Refuge. "They are lost in despair, and this darkness, this chaos…will spread. The Maker doesn't want this."

Marcus bit down the urge to point out that it was the Maker who cursed the lands of Thedas with the first Blight. It was the Maker who turned the first men to darkspawn, who would then taint the Old gods of the Imperium.

"What you do," Leliana continued, "What you are meant to do, is the Maker's work. Let me help!"

He knew they needed help. That was why he tried to recruit Carver and Garrett. The Hawke brothers were professional soldiers in the Ferelden Army. Not to mention, Garrett, a skilled rogue who could detect and deftly disarm traps. Skills that Marcus had seen on display in the skirmishes that led up to the Battle of Ostagar.

He just wasn't sure if he wanted help such as this Leliana. A lay sister of the Chantry whose fervent belief in the Maker and the good will of the Chantry would do nothing but bother and annoy him to no end. He also wasn't sure about her past. He only had suspicions of what she did before she went to the Chantry, but none of them were very flattering, and all were a bit troubling if there were even an ounce of truth to them.

However, they needed all the help they could get. Marcus had to swallow his pride. He couldn't allow his prejudices to direct him. He reminded himself that he couldn't judge her by her first appearance alone. In their brief skirmish, she already proved quite skillful with a pair of daggers. If he had judged Morrigan by her first appearance, and denied her help, they probably would still be wandering through the Wilds.

"I won't turn away help," he said, "you can come with us."

The lay sister flashed him bright smile, "thank you, you will not regret this."

Marcus wasn't sure about that, but he kept that to himself. "You may want to get your gear and whatever supplies or valuables you have, because we will be leaving Lothering, shortly."

Leliana nodded, "my things are back at the Chantry."

"Cauthrien and Alistair will go with you," Marcus volunteered. "They will need to sell our newly obtained weapons and armors to our merchant friend."

"Fair enough," Cauthrien said. "What of you?"

"I will see if I can fetch Morrigan and Padfoot," Marcus answered, "Unless you wish to find her?"

"Find her?" Alistair grumbled, "Why can't we just leave her."

"Nonetheless," Marcus pressed on, aware of the animosity between the apostate and Alistair as well as between Morrigan and Cauthrien. It was not something he wanted to dwell on. "She told me she would be collecting fresh deathroots."

"Deathroots?" Cauthrien repeated, "How charming."

"I think I'd rather talk with our oily merchant," Alistair decided, putting the last dagger and pair of greaves into a small bag, in which he had already put the rest of the weapons and gear he had collected. Cauthrien and Marcus had similar bags, the latter giving his to Cauthrien who took it with a nod.

"Where should we meet?" she asked.

Marcus mulled over the question, while his eyes lingered around Lothering. "At the front of the Chantry," he finally answered, remembering the Chantry Board and the postings for help and the rewards of silvers that will be given at the completion of these mundane tasks. The others agreed to his plan, with Cauthrien leading them towards the Chantry.

Marcus heard a creaking sound, looking over his shoulder; seeing the back door of Dane's Refuge swing open, to reveal a single, unarmed man step outside. He took a few steps, looking around until his eyes fell on Marcus.

"You there, Warden," he said. "I overheard you little incident inside."

"Oh?" Marcus frowned at the approaching intruder, placing his fingers on the pommel of his sword. "And what business do you want with a Warden?"

"I knew Duncan," he answered. "The name is Levi Dryden."

"Well met," Marcus nodded, not removing his hand from the hilt of his sword.

"I have a proposition for you."

"I'm listening."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Next Chapter- Lothering Part 2**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to Mike3207, 'Guest', dominicgrim, and Janizary for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. **

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Location: Lothering, Ferelden**

"I-I'll be f-fine."

Garrett Hawke frowned at Allison. She didn't usually stutter around friends, it was mostly strangers. He had been friends with her husband before his untimely death. His attention shifted towards the grounds around her small home. There were more than a dozen traps set up. These traps were better suited in stopping animals or poorly trained rogues, not darkspawn.

He had seen the destructive might of the horde at Ostagar. The darkspawn had been relentless. It was wave after wave of those monsters crashing onto the ranks of the Ferelden army. He shook his head, trying to banish the memories of that battle back to the corners of his mind.

He had set these traps for Allison, as a favor. He was still hoping to persuade her to leave Lothering and go north. She continued to refuse.

"You're not safe here, Allison," he said.

"I-I, will now," she answered, oblivious to his concern, "T-thanks to y-your traps."

He had been friends with her husband, but had gotten along well with her. He knew of her difficulties. She was frightfully afraid of strangers, practically becoming mute around them. Garrett surmised that was why she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay with what was familiar to her.

"Allison, please," he pleaded. "Come with my family."

She gave him a shy smile, looking at him with a sense of naivety. He understood that with her limitations, she had difficulty in perceiving real threats. She had the mind of a child, not an adult. This was why she was smiling at him. It didn't make it any easier for Hawke, who felt obligated to look after her, after the death of her husband and his friend.

He ran a hand through his messy brown hair. He knew time was working against him. He still needed to go check on his family, and prepare for their departure. They were hoping to leave before nightfall. He'd already sent Carver ahead to help his mother and Bethany with getting things packed and ready to leave. He couldn't waste time. It pained him, to leave her, but he knew he was fighting a hopeless battle. He was sure; he wouldn't be able to persuade her to leave with him.

He settled his guilt, by deciding that he'd seek Elder Miriam, knowing Allison favored the elder woman. He'd make sure Miriam talked some sense into Allison, and made sure she left with the rest of the refugees.

"Okay, Allison," he said, "I have to go home, now."

She nodded, "Say hi to Bethany for me."

"I will," he replied, keeping his tone calm and friendly. He didn't want to betray his growing impatience at her inability to perceive the threat of the darkspawn. Her limitations made it sometimes difficult to be friends with her. She often tested your patience, but Hawke never perceived her as a burden, she was a sweet friend, who didn't deserve the fate that would be sealed if she decided to stay in Lothering.

Hawke was careful to avoid the traps that he'd setup for Allison, while he navigated his way through the surrounding property. Once he cleared the last pair of traps, he looked back, to see Allison was waving bye to him. He returned the wave, forcing himself to smile, before leaving. He silently prayed to the Maker that she'd leave before it was too late.

* * *

><p>The Hawke family had set up their small cottage on the outskirts of Lothering. They wanted to be far enough from the town to avoid suspicion of the townspeople and the Templars. This was done because of Garrett's sister and father, they were mages. Since, they lived outside of the Chantry, they were considered Apostates. Because of this, Garrett had known many homes in his young life, since his family remained on the move to avoid being caught.<p>

Lothering was the longest they'd ever been in one spot. This was partly because of Garrett's father's death, a few years ago. The family was tired of running. They had found a balance of normalcy and routine that they didn't want to abandon. So, they decided to stay in the Arling of Lothering. For the first time, the Hawke family put down roots. This meant Garrett was able to make friends without the crippling fear of having to abandon them only after a few short months.

In their earlier travels, Garrett didn't make many friends, he'd come to understand at a young age that it was pointless to socialize with children his age because sooner or later, he'd be forced to leave them. This way, by not forming friendships, it became more bearable to leave.

The Hawke cottage was nestled on top of a small hill. The front of the house was mostly obscured by towering trees, whose branches were able to block the house from view from the road. Behind the house was a brook. The stream provided them with fresh water and a place to do laundry. Garrett was quite fond of his family home. He was quite torn on having to leave it. However, this time it wasn't the threat of Templars that caused his family to flee, but darkspawn…

"Garrett!"

He looked up to see his sister-Bethany, running to greet him, from the front of the house. He met her emotional welcome with a hug. He knew her and mother had been very fearful and upset with his decision to join the army. He also knew that his sister was already enduring a tremendous amount of pain. He remembered receiving her letter back at Ostagar before the battle, in it, she sadly told him about the death of one of her closest friends, who had been killed with the rest of her family, by a Qunari.

"Its okay, Bethany," he said, after hearing his sister give a few sniffles, aware that she was probably on the verge of tears. "You didn't think a few darkspawn could hurt me?"

She let out a hiccuped chuckle, "I know, brother." She sounded grateful at his attempt to lighten the mood. She sniffed, "It's just the news at Ostagar, we thought, we lost you."

He gently grabbed her by the shoulders, so he could see her face. He noticed the tears swelling in her honey brown eyes. "No worries, sis, I'm quite flattered, that you still care." He tried his best to inject some humor into his voice. He never liked these tense situations. He always preferred to keep a much lighter mood, especially when it came at the expense of his younger brother. It was hardly a family secret that he enjoyed ruffling his brother's feathers.

"Come on, Bethany, let's get inside," leading her up the hill, towards their home. "You'd be surprised how hungry you get running away from darkspawn."

She gave him a watery smile, and went with him, arm in arm up the hill and up to their cottage.

"Garrett!"

Hawke had just enough time to walk inside the house, before being engulfed by his mother, he was quick to comfort her, returning her embrace with equal emotion, just as he had done with Bethany. "Hello, mother," he said, "you didn't think I'd die, did you? I'd miss your nagging too much."

"Garrett," she admonished him, though Hawke was sure he saw a flicker of gratitude behind her eyes. "What a terrible thing to say!"

He offered his mother a shrug and a smile, before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and turning to Bethany. "You see," he said, referring to his mother's previous nagging, "it fills my heart with warmth."

Bethany chuckled, lighting up her face, and wiping away the previous signs of sadness.

His mother wiggled out of his grasp, before shaking her head, trying to look at him with sternness, to show that she wasn't pleased with his untimely joking, but a small smile did crack through that façade.

"Now, where is my brother?" he asked. He knew at once, he'd asked the wrong question, since the previous good mood he tried to establish evaporated in an instant. Both Hawke women looked to be on the verge of tears. "What is it?"

Bethany bit her bottom lip, "Carver, he's talking about not coming with us."

"What?" Hawke asked, making sure to keep his voice leveled. He was angry. No, he was furious, but he couldn't allow himself to project his anger on Bethany or his mother. He was mad at Carver, not them. He sadly understood at once, what Bethany was referring to, when she spoke of Carver not going with them. He knew, he and his brother didn't always see eye to eye, but surely, his brother wouldn't have been this stupid, this selfish to proclaim that he was leaving his family, who were already on the verge of disaster because of the darkspawn.

"So it is true?" Bethany guessed.

"We're not going to split up, Bethany," Hawke assured his sister, he turned to his mother, to see she too wasn't taking the news well.

"We must stay together," she pleaded with him.

"I know, mum," he said, trying to soothe his mother's fears away. "I'll go talk to him."

"He's outback," his mother told him, "but Garrett, please be nice."

He was already heading out the door. He stopped and turned back to his mother, forcing himself to smile. "Come now, mum, I'm always nice." Before she could reply, he left through the back door, making sure to close it behind him. This was a conversation that didn't need to be overheard. This was between the Hawke brothers. He spotted his brother as soon as he stepped outside. Carver was at the bottom of the hill, throwing stones into the brook.

"Come to talk me out, did ya?" Carver asked, looking over his shoulder at Hawke's arrival.

The petulant tone his brother used, caused a ripple of annoyance to fill his heart, but Garrett was quick to squash it. He knew his brother could be difficult, but he also knew that he couldn't afford to get into an argument with him. He took a breath, as he did; he crouched down to scoop up a few pebbles. He picked his words very carefully.

"So, you want to go with Marcus and the others?"

Carver threw one of the stones, into the water, "Yeah, I do."

Hawke didn't like his brother's tone. To Carver, he sounded as if nothing was wrong with his decision, as if it was divine right to just abandon them. Hawke bit down the irritation threatening to spill over in his tone, clenching his fist around the fresh pebbles he plucked.

"Come to stop me have you?" Carver accused, using his usual childish tone and petulant attitude.

"I can't believe you'd be so selfish!" Hawke snapped back, aware that he was letting his anger get the best of him. But he didn't care; his brother didn't need to be coddled.

Carver scowled, tossing a second, heavier stone into the stream. It sunk with a loud thump. "I knew you wouldn't understand!" He dropped the remaining stones that he'd been holding and crouched down in front of the brook.

Hawke didn't follow him. "I understand that you're being a brat. You know mother wants us to stay together."

"I'm tired of running," Carver said, for the first time in their conversation, he didn't sound like a spoiled child. He sounded tired, reflecting the toll that this decision may have had on him. "I want to stand and fight."

Garrett bit down the sigh that threatened to escape his lips. He should have expected this response. He knew his brother was itching not just for a fight, but for honor, for prestige. He wanted to make a name for himself. Hawke understood that Carver was tired of being in his and Bethany's shadow. It was a reasonable enough request. It was difficult for Hawke to take him seriously, since Carver played up the role of martyr, of the victim, of the 'oh woe is me type.'

"This isn't our fight, Carver."

"We're Fereldan, aren't we?" Carver snapped back, before plunging his hands into the stream to wash them. "We're in the army, aren't we? We should be fighting these darkspawn! "

Hawke took a step closer to his brother, but was careful to keep some distance between him and Carver. "This isn't a game," he warned him, "This isn't one of those stories, that sister Leliana used to tell us."

"I know this isn't a game!" Carver growled. "In cased you'd forgotten, I'm all grown up!"

Garrett clenched his jaw. He tossed the pebbles that were in his hand, into the stream, missing his brother by inches, but he did take some satisfaction at seeing Carver being splashed. "Then how bout you act like one!"

"I'm capable of making my own decisions."

He stood over his crouching brother, whose attention remained on his reflection in the brook. "This isn't a decision, this is a mistake."

"I joined the army, didn't I?" Carver stood from his crouching position. "I know, how to fight, don't I?" He took a step towards Hawke, poking him in the chest-hard. "But that still didn't stop you from joining the army too. You just couldn't bear the thought, of me doing something without you!"

He swatted his brother's finger away. "You claim to be an adult, but all I hear is a spoiled, little brat."

Carver glowered, his arms shaking by his side, his hands clenched into fists. "Why can't you accept that you can't boss me around, anymore?"

"Carver, please," Garrett said, trying to reel in his anger, trying to bury his annoyance. It wasn't doing either of them any good. He needed to reason with him, to talk to him, not to fight with him. Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, realizing that in order to get through to his brother that he needed to be more honest with him.

"You're right," he admitted, "I did join the army because of you."

Hawke had expected his brother to be petulant and gloat about being right. He was expecting Carver to remain childish and hold this over him, but he didn't. Carver blinked at him owlishly, looking dismayed at the revelation. He hadn't been expecting it at all.

"I didn't do it, to take your glory, Carver," he continued, taking advantage of his brother's stunned silence. "I did it, because I wanted to help you."

"Help me?" repeated Carver.

"Yeah, I did, but even that proved to be difficult." He noticed his brother took that as an insult, so he quickly clarified. "It was difficult because you don't need my help, anymore." He raised his hand and put it on his brother's shoulder. Carver flinched, but made no attempt to brush his hand away.

"Really?" asked Carver, not bothering to hide his dismay at Hawke's confession.

"Really," Hawke confirmed, patting his brother's shoulder, his lips crooking upwards into a smile, "but you need to understand, that as your older brother, I'll always be bothering you!"

Carver rolled his eyes, taking his joke in stride, he smiled, before feigning annoyance, "oh Maker, help me."

Hawke laughed. Thankful, that the tense mood between brothers had been lifted. That the moment for honesty and sappy admissions had passed, and that he was allowed to be his usual jovial self.

"Thanks," Carver said, softly.

Garrett squeezed his brother's shoulder, knowing that in this moment, actions spoke louder than words ever could, between the two brothers. Carver clapped him on the shoulder, signaling his own gratitude at his honest words.

It was in these moments that Hawke was truly thankful and happy for having a brother. With that, the two brothers made their way back up the hill and towards their cottage.

"Where are we going to go?"

"I don't know, Carver, but wherever it is, we'll be going there, together."

* * *

><p>"Levi Dryden?" Alistair repeated the name, Marcus just gave. The two Wardens were alone, collecting fresh water from a nearby stream. Marcus having just informed Alistair about his conversation with a merchant named Levi Dryden and the proposal he had for the Wardens.<p>

Alistair shook his head, "no, I've never heard of him."

Marcus frowned. He was afraid of that. "You'd think Duncan would have mentioned him or something." He immediately regretted mentioning the Grey Warden Commander, seeing the reaction it elicited from Alistair. The loss was still too fresh for the Warden. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

"No, its okay," he said, "maybe Duncan was going to tell us about him after Ostagar."

Marcus nodded, he'd thought of a similar scenario.

"But do you believe him?" Alistair asked. "I mean about Soldier's Peak and all?"

"Why not?" Marcus shrugged. He knew of Soldier's Peak. He'd read stories about it. It was supposed to be an incredible fort, and it had housed the Grey Wardens before they were exiled. There were also legends and myths about it being haunted or the Fade being torn in the area. Marcus wasn't quick to believe those accounts. Nonetheless, Marcus couldn't deny the strategic use and value Soldier's Peak could have, if they were able to recover it.

It was a Grey Warden fortress. Marcus was sure it was filled with troves of information and tomes on the mysterious order. Information he wanted. Now with Duncan dead, and the nearest Wardens, thousands of miles away, Soldier's Peak may have the information Marcus desired in his attempt to learn everything he could about the Wardens and the effects of the Joining.

He also remembered Levi tell him about his brothers, all of them merchants or blacksmiths. Marcus was sure having them as an ally could benefit them, when they needed better weapons or an even better resource-information. Since, some of his brothers were traveling merchants. Surely they would be able to gather information and gossip throughout Ferelden. Believing, all this together was too much to pass up on.

"I think we should go there."

"What about Arl Eamon?"

"Our best shot is going north," Marcus answered. "That will take us away from the darkspawn horde."

Alistair scratched the back of his neck, clearly looking torn. "But the Arl, he's sick. Shouldn't we go to him?"

"I know, Alistair," he reached out, patting the Warden's shoulder, aware that he was close to the Arl. "And we'll go to him, but we need to start rallying our forces, now."

Alistair sighed. "Yeah, you're right, but why the fortress?"

"It can serve as a good base of operations. That way we have a secure place where we can rest, regroup, store our resources as well as assemble the armies from these treaties. I mean if we recruit the dwarves and elves where are they going to camp out?"

"I never thought of that," Alistair admitted, looking to be mulling over Marcus' points. He then looked up and smiled at him. "This is why you lead and I'll follow."

Marcus was relieved Alistair was taking this so well. He initially wasn't sure if Alistair would agree with him. "So it's okay with you?"

"Of course it is," Alistair said, surprised that Marcus seemed so hesitant.

Marcus smiled, feeling very relieved. He wasn't use to this leading. He thought his ideas and suggestions would be met with criticism or a refusal to follow them. Yet, so far that proved to be a fabricated fear of his. Perhaps, he'd put too much fear and pessimism in the thought of leading. Maybe, just maybe, he did have what it took to do this. His confidence didn't last long, reminding himself that he still needed to tell the others, his proposed plan.

"Where are we supposed to meet this Levi?"

"Outside of town," Marcus answered, looking over to see Alistair had finished filling up the last canteen of water. He crouched down beside his fellow Warden, helping him collect them.

"Okay, so what are we waiting for?"

"We still need to finish the last tasks from the Chantry Board," Marcus pointed out, as the two Wardens left the stream, and made their way back into town. "Not to mention, regroup with the others."

"Oh right," Alistair said, sheepishly, "you know, it might not hurt us, if we didn't regroup with all the others."

Marcus chuckled, knowing at once who Alistair was referring to, "Sorry, Alistair, but unfortunately we need a mage, and whether you like it or not, she's a powerful apostate."

"Well, have me down, for not liking it," Alistair replied, "or her for that matter."

"Don't worry, I didn't mistake you two trading barbs as your way of passing affections," Marcus teased.

Alistair sputtered at this joke, unable to rally an appropriate joke or response. Coupled with his sputtering, was the Warden's ears reddened at the suggestion, this caused Marcus' smile to turn into laughter.

"That's not funny," Alistair grumbled.

"I beg to differ," Marcus replied, in between his laughing. "Now come on, we still need to leave this place by nightfall."

"What about the Hawkes?"

Marcus looked out on the town of Lothering as it came back into view for the two Wardens, who had went to the outskirts to collect fresh, non-contaminated water. Aware that somewhere within this town of refugees was the Hawke family, but with an encroaching darkspawn horde at their backs. Time was against them. They simply couldn't just wait for them. If they were to join them, it would be on the road out of Lothering.

"That's up to them, Alistair."

* * *

><p>"Servants of the Chantry," Morrigan drawled. "I'm so happy I left the Wilds for this!"<p>

Marcus ignored her. She was voicing her disgust at the mundane work that Marcus and the others had been doing for the last few hours. They needed money, so he volunteered their services by taking odd jobs posted on the Chantry Board. Thankfully, they had just completed the fourth and final task listed, and had raised their funds by five sovereigns.

"This will surely help a lot of people," Leliana said happily. The lay sister had discarded her Chantry robes in favor of hardened leathers. She was sporting a bow and had a full quiver of arrows. She still had equipped herself with the pair of daggers that Marcus had seen her use in that earlier brawl with Howe's men, but in their limited combat since that bar brawl, she seemed to prefer archery. He wasn't going to complain, since her skill with a bow was quite impressive. It seemed he was right not to turn her away, because of her bizarre vision by the Maker. She may seem a bit out-there, but as long as she continued to excel in combat, she was more than welcome to stay and fight with them.

"It matters not in the larger scheme of things," Morrigan pointed out. "Most of those we helped will be dead in a matter of days."

"Always the optimist," Marcus mumbled. He like the others, were not use to Morrigan's gloomy outlook and perspective. It seemed her upbringing in the Wilds had made her quite callous.

"What of the giant?" Morrigan asked. "We could use someone of his skill."

Marcus noticed the other three became uneasy at the mention of the caged Qunari, who was languishing outside of the town. They had encountered him, when they were finishing up their tasks for the Chantry. The Qunari's fate was sealed. He was to die for his crimes.

"We should release him," she insisted.

"I didn't know you were capable of compassion," Alistair said, dryly.

"And then put you in the cage," she finished, a dark gleam in her eyes.

"He is a murderer!" Cauthrien protested. "He killed an entire family," she turned to Marcus. "You heard him confess? He didn't seem very repentant for his actions."

Marcus had to admit that Cauthrien made a good point. Then again, everything the Qunari said seemed odd and foreign. He may have spoken their language, but through his mannerisms and choice of words, it was clear, that he didn't have a handle or understanding of their customs. He was still very different, from the rest of them.

However, Marcus couldn't ignore the valuable asset that Qunari could become for them. Just like with Morrigan and now Leliana, he couldn't judge the Qunari on first impressions alone, no matter, how bad his supposed crimes had been. Marcus as a Grey Warden was responsible for ending this Blight, and they would need allies.

He remembered the stories of Grey Wardens. They did not shy away in their recruiting of thieves, rogues, and other unsavory characters, all in the name of stopping a Blight. How could he be any different? They needed all the help they could get, and having a warrior like the Qunari on their side was sure to come in handy.

Marcus couldn't deny his own curiosity with the Qunari. The information and history on them was very limited and extremely bias against them. This was Marcus' chance to learn more about these mysterious peoples, who still posed a very serious threat to the countries of Thedas. He was driven by a thirst of knowledge and history, the thought about actually talking with a true Qunari and learning from him, made it impossible for the learned soldier to pass up.

It was just too good of an opportunity. He was aware that he was probably the only one who thought this way, and knew that he needed to handle this situation very carefully. This was a very delicate matter, and he couldn't afford to fracture his companions trust.

"I agree with Morrigan."

"Marcus, you can't be serious? He's a murderer!"

"I know, Cauthrien," he said, trying to soothe his friend. It was clear she wasn't expecting him to agree with her, if her raised eyebrows were any indication. "But this could be his penitence."

She frowned, looking at him closely, no doubt, she was trying to perceive if he was lying to her or not, he simply returned her inquisitive stare with a stoic look. She relented, "very well, but if he dares to-"

Marcus cut her off, knowing what she was referring to, and what she desired. "Then you have my permission."

She met his eyes and slowly nodded, satisfied with the requirements attached to his decision to handle the Qunari.

Pleased, Marcus turned to the Lay Sister. "Do you think you could speak to the Revered Mother for us?"

Leliana bit her lower lip, her hands fidgeting in front of her. "I'm not sure she will change her mind just because of me."

He should have known. He had met the Revered Mother. She was a stubborn, old woman, who probably believed her will and decision to be final.

"But…" Leliana's brief word broke him from his musings. He turned to her, to see she looked rather conflicted, "I could pick the lock."

Marcus couldn't help but smile at this way of resolving the situation. He liked the idea of thumbing his nose at the Mother and the Chantry by bypassing her authority and breaking the Qunari free. It made it all the more sweeter that picking the lock would be done by a Lay sister. "Then it's settled."

"Well, we should make sure, we're ready to leave, then," Alistair pointed out, "Because I don't think the town will be very friendly with us if we have that Qunari with us."

"You're right, Alistair," Marcus agreed, seeing the wisdom in the Warden's advice. They had collected all of the rewards from Chanter Devons. They had sold the majority of the weapons and armor they had taken from bandits who they came across. He and Alistair had already collected the water. All they needed was food, but that was a rarity in Lothering, and they'd have better luck hunting game once they left, the Arling.

"Are there any objections?" Marcus asked, turning to his companions in turn, they responded to his question with silence, signaling that they agreed with his decision to leave Lothering before nightfall.

* * *

><p><em>Sten? <em>Cauthrien wondered to herself, what sort of name was that. It was definitely a Qunari name, since it made little sense. She found that fitting, since like his name, their very religion made little sense. The faithful believer of Andraste and follower of the Chant watched the heretic known as Sten with a great deal of apprehension, especially when he was free from his prison.

The Gwaren soldier was amazed at the Lay sister's display of lock-picking. She carried a lock-picking kit, and was able to break the lock in a matter of seconds. At first, the Qunari was reluctant to leave his cage. He stubbornly clung to his 'ideals' of justice and believed he should not be freed from his sentence unless released by the Revered Mother. That was something, Cauthrien could agree with.

However, the Qunari relented from his demand, upon learning that Marcus and Alistair were Grey Wardens and in need of help to stop the Blight. She remembered seeing the change of expression this Sten favored the two Wardens upon realizing they were Wardens. It almost would pass as respectful, but the look didn't last, after questioning them for a few seconds, he returned to a more sour expression. He was obviously not impressed with their answers.

Sten stretched his arms and legs once the cage lock had been picked and its door swung open. No doubt, his muscles and joints were sore from being stuck in that cage for several days. She felt no pity for him. He did after all murder a family-An action which he seemed to show no remorse. She still couldn't believe that Marcus had sided with that apostate, and agreed to release this Qunari. The only satisfaction, Cauthrien could take from Marcus' decision was his agreeing that if the Qunari proved too much trouble, then she was given permission, to kill him. It was something, she wouldn't hesitate to do, as a faithful follower of the Chant, it was her duty to purge those who refused to acknowledge the Maker.

He towered over the rest of them, Cauthrien was sure he stood at nearly seven feet, his skin was bronze, his hair white and braided, his face clean shaven except for a growing goatee that too was white and braided. His expression was stoic, bordering on dour, and his purple eyes were filled with judgment, when they swept across the others.

She met his purple eyed stare with her own, noticing that his attention shifted to her _summer sword_, which she carried. Immediately, he frowned, his eyes signaling his dislike of her carrying a weapon, but whatever judgment, he'd wish to give her, never came as his attention was drawn to Marcus, who was trying to engage him in conversation. It was mostly one sided.

"We don't have any armor that would fit you, yet," Marcus said, looking apologetic.

"Understandable," Sten replied, "I doubt you've come across many of my people."

"Nope, you're the first," Marcus answered, smiling.

Sten did not return the smile.

"We do have plenty of weapons, for you to choose from," Marcus said, smoothly transitioning from Sten's dour demeanor. He gestured to Alistair, who moved forward, placing a travel bag in front of Sten, he unwrapped it to show the handful of weapons, they'd yet to sell. The weapons varied from longswords, daggers, and a single greatsword.

It was the greatsword that caught his interest, Cauthrien noted, seeing the giant's purple eyes immediately gravitate to the two-handed weapon. When Sten picked up the weapon, Cauthrien was sure, she saw a gleam of sadness or grief flicker behind the giant's purple eyes, but it happened so quickly, she couldn't be sure. Regardless, the giant made no change in demeanor or emotion when he checked the balance of the greatsword, before taking a few practice swings with it.

"This will do."

"Splendid!" Marcus said, still trying to engage the Qunari in a longer conversation. "We also have something else, you might like."

Alistair nodded, stepping forward, "that's right. We have a Qunari thickened cap." He revealed the cap to the Qunari.

Cauthrien recognized the cap. They'd taken it from the leader of the bandits

Sten took the cap without a word, holding it up to the light, Cauthrien was sure, he was scrutinizing the markings on the side of the leather cap. He then lowered it, looking disgusted. "This cap is a lie."

"Pardon?" asked a frowning Marcus.

"This bears none of the markings of the Arigena."

"An Ari-a what?" asked Alistair.

The Qunari glowered at the two Wardens. "She is the leader of the craftsmen. She inspects the work of our artisans, and upon her satisfaction, allows the work to be given the appropriate markings." He held up the cap to them. "These markings are forged. This cap is a lie."

"Oh," said Alistair, before frowning. "So I guess you don't want it then."

"I didn't say that," Sten replied, gruffly, trying on the cap.

Cauthrien was certain that the Qunari was actually satisfied with the cap, but she doubted, he'd ever say it.

"This will suffice."

Marcus looked relieved, "good, welcome, Sten."

"Why do you insist on talking?" Sten replied, "Do we not have darkspawn to fight?" The Qunari began moving towards the Imperial Highway. "Or was your plan to simply socialize with the darkspawn?"

Cauthrien felt a rush of annoyance and anger at this Qunari, who seemed to have no problems in voicing his displeasure, sharing his disrespectful remarks. No wonder, the apostate wanted them to free it, she finally had someone as callous as she was. Cauthrien wanted to verbally rebuke this Sten, but Marcus spoke before she was given a chance.

"That's it, exactly," Marcus chuckled, Padfoot walking closely beside his master, the mabari's eyes remaining on the walking giant. The hound hadn't made up his mind yet, on this Sten. "We're going to invite the Archdemon to a tea party."

"Where we're serve fine cheeses," Alistair added, joining his fellow Warden as they trailed behind the Qunari with Padfoot.

Cauthrien smiled, amused at the Wardens' jokes and pleased to notice that it was further annoying their newest companion. She watched Morrigan and Leliana following them, even though the two women were walking side by side, neither made any effort to try to talk to the other.

Cauthrien hesitated to follow, she turned back wanting to get one last look at the peaceful town of Lothering. She had a deep seeded fear that, this would be the last time she'd see Lothering intact. She sighed, sending a prayer to the Maker to watch over his people as they flocked north before she set out to join the others.

"Up ahead!" Leliana called the attention to the companions. "There's fighting!"

"Is it darkspawn?"Cauthrien asked, looking forward to see there was indeed brawl ensuing. All she could see were several figures who seemed to be teaming up on a small group that looked no larger than two or three people.

"No," Marcus answered, turning to Alistair for confirmation, the senior Warden nodded. "Still, let's see if we can break this up."

Cauthrien nodded, withdrawing _Summer Sword_ from her holster, she quickened her steps, seeing the others up ahead of her. Whatever peace, Marcus would've tried to establish between the groups, was diminished when one of the people from the groups spotted him and Alistair.

"More Wardens, get'em!"

It was Sten and Padfoot, who were first to enter the fray of fighting. The Qunari deftly skilled with the greatsword cleaved the first figure who tried to stop him. Padfoot leapt onto another attacker. Cauthrien watched a third fall, from an arrow precisely shot by Leliana, who remained a safe distance away from the others. Her accuracy and skill with the bow was incredible, however, Cauthrien didn't allow herself to get caught up in watching Leliana continuing to assault the group with precision arrows.

Cauthrien getting closer to the group, now could see that these men were not soldiers or even bounty hunters. They looked to be simple refugees or farmers. None of them were dressed in armor, and they wielded blunted swords and rusty axes. She noticed that the initial group that had been fighting the farmers, were a pair of armored men, both of whom were lying on the ground, neither of them moving.

This was not Cauthrien's fight. Since the last man fell, before she'd reached the others. She was in part thankful, holstering her greatsword, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to cut down desperate farmers and refugees. Her feelings were further conflicted, when she inspected some of the bodies, seeing their young faces and muddied clothes. They're lives lost because of the darkspawn, and trying to salvage it, by accepting Howe's Wardens bounty.

"Marcus, come over here!" Alistair called.

Cauthrien looked up to see Alistair was kneeling between the two fallen men. They were the original target that the group of farmers had been fighting.

"What?" Marcus asked, approaching his fellow Warden. "What is it?"

"It's Jory and Daveth."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to Mike3207, 'guest,' borismortys, kaysue18, 'guest,' Janizary, RohanVos, & Shattered Faith for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. **

* * *

><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Location: Lothering, Ferelden**

Hawke had feared this day would come. He had been dreading it since the first report of the darkspawn amassing in the south began cropping up, all those months ago. It was in part the reason why he joined the army. He had wanted to serve in hopes of protecting his home. He knew that if they couldn't stop them in the south, then it would only be a matter of days or weeks before the darkspawn reached Lothering.

At Ostagar, the Ferelden army perished. It was not just the majority of the army and the Grey Wardens that were lost, but also their king. Now, the darkspawn were coming. And Hawke knew enough about the previous Blights and history of the darkspawn to know that Lothering didn't have a chance to stave off the threat, and knew that his home would never be the same once the darkspawn touched these lands.

_Home,_ it was a simple word that never had any real meaning for Hawke until they came to Lothering. He and his family had moved throughout Ferelden for most of his life, wary of the pursuit of templars who would be after first his father, and then later his sister, Bethany, who like their father was an apostate. It was in Lothering that the family tired of moving around and comfortable in the small town, finally decided to rest and put down roots.

That had been years ago, and few things have changed since Hawke and his family settled into a nice, cozy little cottage on the outskirts of Lothering. It has been a few years since his father had died, passing the mantle of leadership of the family to Hawke. They buried their father on the property, complete with tombstone, picking a spot under his favorite secluded spot, at the base of an oak tree. It was from that tree, that their father had crafted not only his staff, but Bethany's as well.

His family was now on the outskirts of Lothering, taking the Imperial Highway north, in hopes of saving themselves from running into the darkspawn horde. They hadn't been able to leave as quickly as Hawke had liked. It was nearly twilight, and they had just left the settlement. Looking back, Hawke could still see the Lothering windmill peaking over the hills.

Just as they had started late, they were also moving slower, than Hawke would've liked. He wasn't with his Lothering regiment, who were able to march several miles in a couple of hours. He was traveling with his mother and sister, neither of them conditioned or as coordinated as his regiment had been.

He looked back to see his mother and sister coming up behind him, both looking a bit winded. Hawke bit down a sigh, knowing showing his frustration or disappointment wasn't going to help his mother or sister go any faster. Against, his better judgment he called for a brief break, knowing it was the right decision when his mother immediately went over to the railing, leaning against it for support. His sister was right beside her.

Carver brought up the rear, not because he was suffering from the same fatigue that was plaguing their mother and sister. It was in order to protect them and sound the alarm in case they were attacked by bandits or darkspawn. His brother didn't meet his stare, instead he went over to the railing opposite their mother and sister, perching himself on it, while his focus went to his boots.

Hawke thought back to his conversation with Carver, knowing his decision was in part the reason he was receiving his brother's current attitude. He couldn't fault his brother's loyalty or devotion in wanting to continue to serve Ferelden and combat the darkspawn instead of fleeing. Hawke knew that the arrival of Marcus and the others only poured fuel onto that fire; especially after he invited both Hawke and Carver to travel with him and the rest of his diverse companions. Hawke would be lying if he said, he wasn't tempted. He probably would have agreed if it was just himself and Carver, but it wasn't. With father dead, it was up to Hawke to lead and keep his family together.

"I can't believe we're really leaving." It was Bethany, during his musings; she must have slipped over to him, and was now standing beside him, her eyes, like his on the distant Lothering windmill.

He put a comforting arm around his sister's shoulders, "don't worry, Bethany, we'll find a new home."

"Where?" asked Carver, pushing himself off of the railing.

"What about Kirkwall?"

Bethany bit her lower lip, turning away from the windmill and towards their mother. "There's a lot of Templars in Kirkwall, mother."

Leandra Hawke waved her hand, as if dismissing the merit of the notion that the templars could pose a threat to Bethany, who was a mage. "The Amells are a royal and powerful family, dear."

Hawke knew his mother was referring to her family. He remembered the stories she use to tell him about their family in Kirkwall, when he was younger. According to his mother, the Amells had accumulated plenty of power and wealth in Kirkwall, having become one of the strongest noble families in the city. Yet, in his mother's tales, she tried to pass on the value and importance of love over those material goods, since she chose their father over her family. Now, his mother was relying on that same wealth and status to save and protect her family. If the situation wasn't so grim, Hawke may have found it a bit more amusing.

"We can decide where we're going later," Hawke cut in, realizing it was pointless to argue now. They may have just left Lothering, but they were not safe….

A soft series of clicking caught Hawke's attention. He had heard that noise before. He turned to his brother to see him give him a tight nod. Carver recognized it too, the younger Hawke pulled out his greatsword.

"Mother, get behind Carver," Hawke warned, retrieving his twin daggers from his back.

"What is it?" Bethany asked, tightening her grip on her staff.

Hawke opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't need to give an answer. A handful of darkspawn appeared, having climbed the barriers of the ruins of the Imperial Highway to surround the Hawke family when they had been talking.

Hawke had his daggers out, repelling the first series of offensive strikes from a charging hurlock. He then went on the offensive, knocking the darkspawn's shield aside, and slid his daggers deep into the darkspawn's torso, for a quick and easy kill. The hurlock's body had yet to hit the floor, before two more darkspawn approached Hawke, a genlock and a hurlock.

The hurlock led with its sword and shield, while the genlock remained out of reach, nimbly circling Hawke and the hurlock. The rogue understood what the genlock was doing. It was looking for an opening to deliver a messy backstab. Hawke wasn't going to give it that opening, keeping his attention on the hurlock, who was trying to use its shield like a battering ram, trying to dislodge Hawke's daggers.

He was careful to deflect the hurlock's shield, knowing that if he lost either of his daggers he'd be in serious trouble in trying to defend himself. The hurlock again led with its shield, Hawke sidestepped it, allowing the darkspawn to pass and as it did, Hawke using his daggers cut down towards the hurlock's exposed arms. His daggers cleanly cut through the hurlock's arm at the elbow that had been holding its shield.

It cried out in pain, as a fountain of its blood began to squirt from its bloody stump of an arm. Hawke put the creature out of its misery, with a quick series of stabs along the hurlock's exposed side. And that was when the genlock attacked. With a battle cry, the darkspawn leapt towards Hawke, whose back was turned, and daggers embedded into the hurlock corpse.

Hawke looking over his shoulder to see the genlock attack; he muttered a curse as he tried to dislodge his daggers from the recently slain hurlock. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to pull the daggers out in time, he lowered himself before rolling to the side, avoiding the genlock's scissor sweep of its daggers. Still on the ground, Hawke looked up at the genlock, who cackled in delight, a lipless smile on its ugly face.

A sudden crackle of fire interrupted the two, the genlock burst into flames. No longer smiling, it was now squealing in pain, dropping its daggers as it tried to douse the flames. But it was futile, the smoldering genlock toppled to the ground within a matter of seconds. Its smoking body lay still.

Hawke propping himself with his elbows to see his savior had been his sister, Bethany. She offered him a smile and nod, twirling her staff in her hands. Pushing himself up to his feet, Hawke quickly went over to the hurlock to retrieve his daggers before shuffling through its belongings, grinning when he discovered a handful of silvers and coppers.

"Thanks," he said, hearing his sister come up behind him.

"You're welcome, brother."

He could hear the smile in her voice. He looked over to see Carver had done an admirable job in protecting himself and mother from the darkspawn. There were more than a handful of corpses strewn around the younger warrior, showing his skill and tenacity in defending himself and their mother.

"We should get moving," said a breathless Carver, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

Hawke nodded his approval, "lets."

"But where are we going?" asked Bethany.

Hawke sighed, "We'll head north, perhaps Highever or Amaranthine?"

"What about Kirkwall?" the Hawke matriarch spoke up.

"It won't be safe in Kirkwall," Hawke answered, sneaking a glance at his sister to see her give him a thankful nod.

"We have family there," his mother insisted. "We'll be safe and together."

"We can be safe and together in Ferelden too." Hawke pointed out, trying to keep his tone controlled, but his mother's inability to accept his decision and insistence in Kirkwall were beginning to rub him the wrong way.

His mother huffed, not trying to hide her disapproval at his decision.

Hawke ignored her. He turned to Carver to see his younger brother nod in approval, he then turned to Bethany to see her nod and smile. They had decided. They'd remain in Ferelden, and hope to find sanctuary and peace up north.

* * *

><p>Cauthrien, like the others had remained quiet while Daveth and Jory took turns describing the terrible ordeal that they suffered from on the frontlines at Ostagar. They spoke about their harrowing escape from a horde of darkspawn; Daveth using his knowledge of the Korcari Wilds from his youth to hide himself and Jory, from the darkspawn, before making their way north. The Gwaren soldier had to give the two Wardens their due.<p>

The two Wardens were now sitting on a ruined stairwell that led up to the Imperial Highway. They looked to have seen better days. They were both bruised and bloodied by the savage beatings they had received from the desperate peasants, who had been trying to collect the bounty on Grey Wardens. Leliana and Alistair were helping to bandage them up.

Ser Jory, the Redcliffe knight had to put his left arm in a sling, with no proper healer in their party, they couldn't risk further damaging the arm.

Daveth, who Cauthrien remembered flirting with her at Ostagar, had several bruises covering his face, a split lip, and a swollen eye, but his spirit didn't seem broken, making passes at Leliana. She was wiping away the blood smear that covered the left side of his face from a nasty cut.

"So you're a lay sister?"

"That's right," Leliana said, cleaning the cut along his cheek.

"I see," Daveth's non-swollen eye looking Leliana up and down, "well let me know, sister, if you want me to introduce you to some of the more pleasurable-"

Leliana pinched his cheek-hard, interrupting him from his offer.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," Leliana apologized, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "It may be better if you didn't talk."

Daveth chuckled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, "that's how I prefer it too, sister."

Cauthrien rolled her eyes. She wasn't the only one not impressed with the rogue's brazenness. The apostate, Morrigan had her arms crossed tightly over her barely covered chest.

Sten, the qunari warrior, didn't seem too pleased that they had stopped to tend to these men, even if they were Wardens. The Qunari suggested to just leave them, believing they'd be more of a hindrance than a help. Marcus had declined Sten's suggestion.

The reminder of her friend had Cauthrien turn towards their silent leader. Marcus was standing off to the side, away from the others, his blue eyes distant. His faithful mabari-Padfoot, sat on his haunches beside his master, who was absent-mindedly scratching the mabari's head.

"It looks like your Order just doubled."

He didn't answer. She took his silence in stride, taking her place on his other side. She had noticed during the story that Marcus had surprisingly remained impassive during the length of the story, the only time, she thought he reacted was when Daveth had explained seeing their Commander, Duncan be executed by a hurlock Alpha. In that revelation, she was sure she saw the slightest of winces, but in a flash it was replaced once more with his current stoic demeanor.

"It's not my Order."

"Pardon?" she asked, caught off-guard by his blunt dismissal.

"The Grey Wardens," he explained. "They're not my Order."

She remained quiet, unsure of how to respond to that remark. She understood his disapproval of the Order. It stemmed back from him being conscripted by the Warden Commander while his home was under-siege. But now, even after the battle, with them all but being wiped out, he still seemed to share no love or respect for the Grey Wardens.

She opened her mouth to speak, but noticed Marcus close his eyes, a look of pain coming to his face. She recognized that look, turning to see similar looks come to Jory and Daveth's expression. Alistair had immediately stood up, pulling out his sword and shield. There were darkspawn near.

"Someone help us!" The voice was coming from right above them. It was someone on the Imperial Highway.

"Leliana, Morrigan, stay with Jory and Daveth," Marcus instructed, sliding his arm into his shield strap while withdrawing his sword. He was already climbing the steps, Padfoot was at his side and Alistair was in front, Sten trailing behind Marcus.

Cauthrien noticed the look of annoyance that the two women gave each other upon hearing their orders, whether it was because they were chosen to sit out the fighting, or chosen to stay together, when it was clear neither preferred the other's company, she didn't know. But to their credit, neither spoke up to argue his orders.

Not wanting to be left behind, Cauthrien quickened her haste as she made her way up the steps. She could already hear the sounds of steel on steel, the battle cries and shouts that were met with snarls and hisses from the darkspawn. When she climbed the last of the steps, she saw more than a dozen darkspawn fighting Marcus and the others. She noticed a pair of dwarves cowering behind their wagon with broken boxes littered alongside the road. They must have been the ones to call for help.

Sten, the qunari was already proving his worth. He wielded his greatsword with ease, keeping three darkspawn occupied, and having already killed another pair, whose bodies lay at his feet.

Alistair had thankfully, already taken out the darkspawn emissary, its staff broken, lying beside its corpse. He was now fighting a hurlock Alpha.

Marcus and Padfoot were fighting together, the mabari and master taking on a handful of genlock rogues. Judging by the growing pile of darkspawn bodies amassing at their feet, the darkspawn didn't seem a match for the pair.

That left a remaining pair of darkspawn. One hurlock and one genlock, their backs turned to her, the former carrying a bow and the latter a crossbow and were taking aim at the wagon in hopes of killing the cowering dwarves.

She was quick to enter the fray, _summer sword_ at the ready charging the genlock. The darkspawn, who had been wielding a crossbow and firing bolts into the wagon, never saw her coming. In one sweep of her greatsword she was able to cleanly decapitate the genlock, its ugly head bouncing off of the road and out of sight, while its body swayed, with blood shooting like a geyser from its neck before it crumpled to the ground.

Her kill had gotten the attention of the hurlock, who swung its jagged looking bow like a sword. She jumped backwards barely avoiding the serrated edges. Undaunted, the hurlock hissed its displeasure as it continued to swing the nasty looking weapon in lieu of a sword or dagger. Her greatsword was able to meet each one its strikes, parrying the attacks to make sure that she didn't get her hands or arms sliced or cut from the bow.

Tired of being on the defensive and wanting to finish the fight, Cauthrien feigned to her left with the _summer sword_, a feint that the darkspawn fell for, adjusting its bow to deflect the stab and leaving it vulnerable for a strike which Cauthrien delivered perfectly. Her greatsword cleaving through the darkspawn bow, shattering it into splinters, the darkspawn had just enough time to look down at its broken weapon before she finished her strike with a clean blow across the darkspawn's chest.

It was an instant kill for the Gwaren soldier, the darkspawn going limp even when her sword remained embedded in its chest. It fell to the ground, allowing her to see the others had finished off the remaining darkspawn, with Sten killing off the last one, a hurlock.

Marcus had already sheathed his sword and holstered his shield and was now talking with the bearded dwarf. The merchant chatted amiably with Marcus, no doubt conveying his thanks and appreciation for their intervention. He then dropped a small coin purse into Marcus's hand, who took the gift with a nod, before tying it to his hip.

She shifted her attention to the dead hurlock at her feet. Her greatsword firmly entrenched in its chest. With a tug and a sickly crunch she was able to remove her sword. She frowned as she inspected the dripping darkspawn blood that mucked her blade. Knowing, she had to be careful when she wiped away the blood, since if she wasn't, she could get infected with Blight sickness.

She spotted Alistair off to the side, hovering over the darkspawn he had slain. He was sifting through the darkspawn's belongings in search for coin or other valuables. Padfoot was at his master's side, but had not escaped the attention of the young dwarf, who seemed enamored by the mabari. Padfoot, for his part didn't seem to mind the attention.

"Why are you here?"

Cauthrien looked over her shoulder to see the towering qunari, Sten, his purple eyes transfixed on her. She saw the judgment and disapproval in his eyes and in his stance. She had a feeling that he wasn't too keen on her being a soldier, remembering the look he had given her and her sword when they first met.

"What do you mean?"

"Women are to be priests, artisans, farmers, or shopkeepers," the Qunari explained, "None of them have any place in fighting."

Cauthrien bristled at that. She didn't know what annoyed her more the Qunari's brazenness at telling her what she was suited for or the firm belief that he spoke in, which showed his approval. "You think to tell me my place, Qunari?"

"It is not done."

"You have no female warriors, Qunari?"

"Of course not," he answered, in a dismissing tone. "Why would our women wish to be men?"

"We do not wish to be men," she replied, irritably.

"That will only lead to frustration," he pointed out.

"Do not bother with him," Morrigan said, ascending the stairs with Leliana behind her. She leveled the Qunari with a look of distaste.

Sten matched her look, showing his own disapproval and dislike for the Apostate. However, the situation was diffused before further insults could be exchanged with Marcus and Alistair moving towards them. The latter seemingly oblivious to the tension he was walking into, while the former carefully looked from Sten to Morrigan.

"Is there a problem?" Marcus finally asked.

Sten answered his displeasure in Qunlat- The native language of the Qunari.

Unsure, of what he said, Cauthrien was sure it wasn't anything polite. She looked to see Marcus was still watching Sten, but only for another second or two, before he turned his attention towards her.

"Cauthrien, you will be staying with Alistair and Sten."

She bit back the frown that threatened to slip past her demeanor. As a soldier, she understood the importance of following orders and not questioning the judgment of her superiors, especially in front of others. Yet, it didn't stop her from being disappointed at being left behind by two of her least favorite companions in the Qunari and the Warden. In the short amount of time together, they both annoyed her, whether it was the former's disregard and disrespect of female warriors or her faith. While the latter's insistence on cursing and blaming Teyrn Loghain for the calamity at Ostagar, seemingly forgetting the role his beloved Duncan had played in the disaster at Ostagar.

"I need you three to stay with Jory and Daveth," he explained, Marcus then gestured to the two dwarves, "Bodahn and his boy, Sandal have been kind enough to let us use his wagon to transport Jory and Daveth."

"Leliana, Morrigan, Padfoot and myself will collect Levi," he finished, after receiving nods from the two women, he continued, "He shouldn't be far from here, once we have him. I'll send Padfoot back and we'll meet up with ya."

"Understood," Cauthrien said, finding no fault in his plan or his logic. Her only complaint was being left behind, watching as Alistair and Sten descend down the stairs, no doubt to collect the two injured Wardens. She watched as Leliana was carrying her bow, her eyes looking around for any sign of threat lurking, the apostate was twirling her staff idly, but her amber eyes too were alert for the slightest bit of trouble.

"Don't worry, Cauthrien, I won't be gone long," Marcus said, he must have sensed her discomfort and displeasure at her task.

She looked up to see he was watching her. "You better not be," she began, "If they don't stop complaining, I can't guarantee either of them being in good condition by the time you return."

Marcus chuckled, bowing his head slightly, "Understood." His blue eyes shimmered in amusement, before calling Padfoot to heel, as the Cousland scion and Mabari war-hound went off after the apostate and lay sister.

Cauthrien could feel the smile tugging at her lips at Marcus' over-the-top antics. She took comfort in seeing the brief moments where he seemed to return to his former self. She wouldn't voice her concerns yet, but she was very worried for her friend. As she watched him catch up with Morrigan and Leliana, she whispered a quick prayer to the Maker, asking to give her friend the strength and guidance to move forward after the terrible ordeal he suffered from.

She could hear the rising voices of Sten, Alistair, and a complaining Daveth as they made their way up the steps. She closed her eyes, trying to drown out their voices. To end her prayer, she asked for tolerance and patience in handling the others, and if that didn't work, she asked for a muzzle; so that she at least could get a moment's reprieve every now and then…

* * *

><p>"Where is this merchant?" Morrigan asked, not hiding her annoyance at having not been able to locate the merchant yet.<p>

Marcus, Padfoot, Leliana, and Morrigan had only been walking along the Imperial Highway for a few minutes. They were trying to locate Levi Dryden, a merchant who had privy information and directions to the fabled Soldier's Peak. It had been Marcus's decision that the Peak would be the first place they go to, upon leaving Lothering. He believed the Grey Warden fortress could be a valuable asset as they collect armies to fight the darkspawn.

"I don't understand," Marcus said, putting his hands on his hips, looking around the remnants of the Imperial Highway. "Dryden should be here."

"Maybe the darkspawn got him?" Morrigan offered in a matter-of-fact tone.

Marcus felt a sickly slither beneath his skin. He recognized the feeling at once, ignoring the urge to vomit, and the lurch of his protesting stomach, he moved forward, realizing that they were not alone. Darkspawn were near. "Be ready."

Padfoot signaled he understood his master with a throaty growl, his fur along his back, standing on end.

Leliana was quick to notch an arrow to her bow, her alert blue eyes examining the area around them. "I see fighting up ahead."

He followed her line of sight, to see the lay sister spoke true. Up ahead, Marcus could make out a group of no more than five people, surrounded by darkspawn. Yet, it seemed only three of them were fighting the darkspawn, while the other two figures were cowering behind a turned over wagon. It was Levi Dryden, Marcus was sure of it. Looking closer, at those who were fighting, Marcus recognized the fighting styles of Garrett and Carver Hawke.

"Leliana, Morrigan, get the darkspawn's attention," he instructed, withdrawing his sword and slipping his arm into his shield strap. He hoped Leliana and Morrigan's long range attacks would not only distract the darkspawn but weaken them.

The apostate and lay sister didn't need to be told twice. The latter letting loose an arrow, Marcus watched it soar through the air, finding its mark when it smashed into the back of the head of a hurlock. It was an instant kill. It also got their attention. A pair of genlocks was charging them.

Morrigan stepped forward, using her staff to send out forks of lightning to meet the pair of darkspawn. They were fried instantly, bodies smoldering when they hit the ground.

Their party's arrival had served as the perfect distraction. The rest of the darkspawn were disoriented, unsure on whom to focus their attack on. Their hesitation would cost them their lives. The Hawke brothers were able to cut through the ranks of the darkspawn, slaughtering a handful in a blink of an eye. The remaining darkspawn were quickly cut down with a combination of Leliana's sniping arrows and Morrigan's spells.

However, as Marcus and Padfoot got closer, he recognized the third person in the Hawkes' brothers group, a girl, who wielded a staff had finished off the final darkspawn. Realizing the fighting was over, before he entered the fray of combat, a thankful Marcus sheathed his sword and slid his shield back onto his back. Believing, they were out of danger, he turned to Padfoot.

"Go get Cauthrien, and the others, boy."

Padfoot let out an affirmative bark before turning and running back the way they came to round up the others, so that they could embark towards Soldier's Peak.

"Nice enough of you to show up again," Hawke said, in greeting, the rogue was sifting through the darkspawn corpses.

Marcus took his mirth in stride. "That's two you owe me."

Hawke chuckled, but before the rogue could continue, another voice broke through their conversation.

"Is that you, Warden?"

Marcus frowned at the muffled but recognizable voice. "Levi?"

"Yeah, it's me," he said, it took Marcus a second before realizing that the merchant was underneath his wagon, seeking shelter from the battle. Levi, slowly and carefully crawled out from under his wagon, his face the first to emerge, he gave Marcus a smile. "I thought I was a goner."

Marcus stepped forward, offering his hand to help pull the merchant up to his feet. Levi took his hand with a nod, as he pulled him off the ground and back onto his feet.

"Thanks, Warden." Levi dusted off his pants and shirt, before turning to the Hawkes, "if they hadn't been here, I'd be dead."

Marcus turned to the two recognizable Hawke brothers, both men who he fought with at Southron Hills. Now, that he was close enough, he was able to get a better view of the young woman, who he was certain was their sister. He had to admit that she was a very pretty young woman. She had long, curly dark hair, soft brown eyes, even in her conservative attire; she couldn't hide her curvy figure.

The other woman, who had been cowering behind the wagon with Levi was older. She had short graying hair, grey eyes that still looked very sharp. Marcus was sure that this must be the Hawke matriarch.

He noticed that both Hawke women were watching him warily. Undeterred with their looks, he stepped forward, bowing his head in greeting to the two women, remembering his court etiquette lessons. He first took, the mother's hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles, his eyes looking up to the woman. "I am Marcus, a Grey Warden. It is a pleasure to meet you, lady Hawke."

The Matriarch surveyed him, with a sharp gaze, before tilting her head, "well met, Marcus. I am Leandra Hawke."

He felt a pang at hearing the woman's voice, recognizing it to be very similar to his own mother's voice. He pushed aside that feeling of coincidence before turning his attention to the sister, repeating the process, of taking her hand, and placing a kiss on her knuckles and repeating his introduction. However, he elicited a different reaction from the young woman, seeing a creeping blush on her cheeks.

"I'm Bethany," she said.

Marcus smiled, bowing his head once more, before removing her hand from his grip, "A pleasure, Bethany."

"How come you didn't greet us that way?" Hawke asked, stepping into view, standing beside his mother and sister. His tone was glib, but his stance was a clear warning, falling into the role of protective older brother.

"I could if you like," Marcus replied, smoothly, not wanting to get on Garrett's bad side, by exchanging a few flirts with his sister. He gestured to Levi. "You have my thanks, Hawkes."

"You two know each other?" asked Carver, holstering his greatsword.

"You could say that."

Levi laughed, "just me him in Lothering, I did. He's been kind enough to help me with my family problem."

"Oh?" asked Garrett, turning from Levi to Marcus, "and what sort of family problem needs the attention of a Grey Warden?"

Marcus had to admit, the rogue was quite sharp. "We're going north, to Soldier's Peak," he answered, going with honesty, because he still held some hope that the Hawke brothers would join him.

"We're going north too," Carver put in.

That got Hawke to look over his shoulder at his brother, Marcus couldn't see the look, but he was sure the older brother was scolding the younger brother. When Hawke turned back to face Marcus, his brown eyes went over Marcus's shoulders, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Sister Leliana?" he gaped.

That got Bethany and Carver's attention, who both turned at the approaching Leliana and Morrigan. The latter had her arms crossed, looking indifferent at the Hawke family, remaining far enough away as to avoid attention, but Marcus noticed Morrigan's eyes lingering on Bethany, but more specifically, the staff that she was carrying.

The former giving a bright smile to the Hawke siblings, her arms in a welcoming gesture, "It's so good to see you, three."

"You look different, sister," Hawke said wryly, referencing her leathers and bow and arrow.

She was still smiling. "Yes, but I'm still doing the Maker's work."

"You're traveling with him?" Carver asked, in disbelief.

"Yes," she affirmed.

Marcus noticed her answer caused Carver to look over at his brother with a scowl. It was clear between the two brothers, which one wanted to accompany Marcus and which one didn't. "Have you reconsidered my offer, Hawke?"

"What offer?" asked the Hawke matriarch, turning her attention on her eldest son. She wasn't the only one; Bethany too, was looking at her brother curiously.

"I didn't want to worry you, mother," Hawke said, sending an annoyed look Marcus's way, before turning back to his mother and sister. "It doesn't matter, because I turned him down."

"That's right, you turned him down," Carver said, emphasizing the 'you,' the younger brother stepped forward towards Marcus, holding his greatsword in a gesture of swearing fealty, "If you'll have me, sire, then I pledge my sword and services in helping you stop this Blight, with the Maker and His Bride as witness."

Carver's sudden oath, elicited different reactions from his family, his mother protested, his sister gasped, and his brother cursed.

"Carver" Leandra protested, "You cannot do this."

"I'm not a child, mother," Carver said, petulantly, before turning back to Marcus, his blue eyes pleading. "Please, let me join you. I can help."

"If the boy wishes to fight, then who are we to deny him?" Morrigan asked, speaking up for the first time. Her opinion didn't make her any new friends as the two Hawke women were quick to turn their disapproving glares in her direction.

Marcus was aware, that all eyes were on him. He understood that a family's fate was hinging on his decision. He had seen Carver fight, recognizing the warrior's skill, and knew that they could use his strength in their fight against the darkspawn. But Marcus hesitated, as much as he wanted Carver to join him, he was uneasy at the decision of splintering a family. He could see from the other three Hawkes, that none of them were forthcoming in their support for Carver's decision.

He understood that you couldn't defeat a Blight with sentimentality. If he was to lead, he had to understand that he sometimes couldn't allow himself to be dictated by his emotions, or even beliefs. That sometimes, he needed to rely on logic, no matter how cold-hearted it seemed. They were fighting a war against an overwhelming force of darkspawn, and he was going to need all the help he could get...

It wasn't an easy decision, but Marcus knew it was the right decision. "Very well, Carver Hawke," he pressed on after the others began protesting, "As of right now, you serve and fight for me."

"Thank you, your Grace," he bowed his head, and holstered his sword.

"You can't do this," the Hawke matriarch protested. "You can't take him, he is a boy."

Carver bristled at this, going to step beside Marcus and the others, but it was Marcus who spoke up, aware that he wasn't very popular at the moment. "No, Lady Hawke, your son is a soldier. I've seen him fight. He is a skilled and capable warrior." From the corner of his eye, Marcus noticed Carver puff his chest slightly at this compliment, but he moved on. "You are all welcome to join us," he let his offer hang in the air, his eyes meeting Hawke's who was currently frowning at him.

"Ferelden will need as much help as we can get in combating this Blight. At the very least you are welcome to travel north with us, we can offer you safe passage and a safe place to rest." He noticed the growing interest in Bethany's expression.

"What…about my abilities?" Bethany asked, hesitantly.

"You will be protected," Marcus assured her, "As a Grey Warden, it is not uncommon for us to recruit mages, as long as you agree to fight and serve under me, I can protect you from the Templars."

She was biting her lower lip. Her brown eyes conveying her interest and growing desire to join Marcus and the others to combat the Blight. She turned to her older brother, no doubt, hesitant to join if he wouldn't.

Hawke sighed, "You can protect my mother?"

"Hawke," Leandra gasped, realizing what her eldest was implying.

Marcus turned to Levi, who gave him a nod, "yes, I can offer her a safe home, where she can remain in contact with you all, when we are traveling."

"It seems we're not being left with much choice," Hawke said bitterly, "I won't allow our family to be separated, I will join you."

"Me too," Bethany put in, a bit more enthusiastic and excited then her brother sounded.

"I will not forget your services, and sacrifices." He held out his hand, knowing there was some tension between himself and Hawke. Thankfully, Hawke did not make him wait, shaking Marcus's hand, with a nod, sealing their agreement to serve and fight for Marcus.

Marcus couldn't help but feel a growing sense of gratefulness and even happiness, now that he was successful in recruiting three more talented companions to join him. He could tell that Hawke was annoyed with him, at accepting Carver, but Marcus was certain that deep down Hawke knew and understood that this was where he belonged.

He knew that Hawke, a skilled rogue who was well rehearsed in traps and combat would come in handy. As well as his younger brother, who was no slouch with a sword, Marcus remembered Carver being one of the more skilled swordsmen in his unit. Last, was Bethany, her recruitment wasn't expected, and Marcus was slightly wary about adding not just another mage, but an apostate, but he understood that in these dire times, he couldn't be picky in his choice of allies.

The only one who didn't seem happy about the decision was the Hawke matriarch. Marcus could feel himself the target of her ire. He shifted his position to see she was openly staring at him. While an excited Bethany and Carver were talking with Leliana, who too seemed happy that the Hawkes were joining, the three talked as if they were quite familiar with one another.

Before the Hawke matriarch could voice her displeasure at her children's decision, loud barking could be heard. Knowing that his mabari's arrival couldn't have come at a better time, he looked over his shoulder to see Padfoot trotting over to him, and leading the others. Behind his mabari were Cauthrien and Alistair. Behind the two warriors were Bodahn and Sandal, their wagon being pulled by a pair of oxen. Inside the wagon, were Daveth and Jory, and walking alongside it, was the stoic qunari, Sten.

Now that they were all here, they could finally set out. Leave Lothering behind and make north towards Soldier's Peak. Since arriving at Lothering, Marcus's numbers had swelled to include, Leliana, Sten, and now the Hawke siblings, not to include the merchants Bodahn and Levi, and not forgetting Sandal or Leandra. It seemed for the first time in awhile, things were going Marcus's way…

"YOU!"

_I spoke too soon, _Marcus thought wryly. He turned to the source of the shriek to see it had come from Bethany Hawke. He was completely caught off guard by the sudden and shocking turn in Bethany's behavior. The young woman, who had been nothing but innocent and polite upon meeting, was now radiating hostility; her grip on her staff tight, her brow eyes staring daggers.

The atmosphere and the situation had dramatically tensed in an instant. Confused, and curious, Marcus followed her line of sight to see the target of her hatred was Sten. "What's going on?"

Bethany pointed her staff at Sten. "That Qunari killed my best friend and her family!"

Sten, for his part didn't deny his involvement, "This is true."

"You freed him?" she asked, in disbelief, rounding on Marcus, who noticed that it wasn't just Bethany who was angry, it was her entire family.

"I did," Marcus answered, not wavering under their stares. "This is a Blight. We as Wardens cannot be picky in our allies."

Bethany was shaking her head, "If I had known this was your ally, I wouldn't have joined."

"Too late," Marcus said, firmly, stepping towards them. "You three gave me your word and pledged your services to help me fight this Blight. You cannot slink away, simply because you hold ill feelings towards a member of our group."

"But…but," Bethany began.

Marcus wouldn't let her finish. "There are no buts." He said, expecting them to speak up, but they didn't so he seized the silence, and used it for his advantage, "You don't have to like one another," he began, referring to not just Bethany and Sten, but to several other of his companions, "but you will respect one another, and you will respect my orders."

"We as Fereldans are facing annihilation. From a threat that will devastate everything it touches. We do not have the luxury to turn away help," he paused; surprised that he was still holding everyone's attention. "No matter if they are thieves or murderers, knights or templars, soldiers or priests, apostates or nobles."

"We must not fail. It is not just the present of our country that is depending on us, but its future." He was trying to inject as much confidence as he could in his tone, but he wasn't sure if he was convincing or not, as he went into the final part of his impromptu speech.

"We are facing this adversity alone. It is up to us select few, to rally the many. Our nerves cannot buckle. Our spirits cannot wane. We must not falter," he paused, studying his silent audience. They all stared back at him, none of them moving. "Now, if there are no more objections?" He let his question hang in the air, waiting for Bethany to speak up, but the apostate didn't, instead slinking into her brother's shadow. His companions were simply watching and waiting for him, it took him a few seconds before realizing that they were waiting for him to give them some semblance of direction.

"Levi, help Lady Hawke into your wagon," he barked over his shoulder, "Padfoot, Bethany, Carver, and Leliana, you're up front with me." He was walking ahead, hopeful that his instructions were being followed. His confidence was boosted when he caught the movement of those he called, coming up front to join him. They were listening and following his orders, he realized with a mixture of numbness and surprise. It dawned on him, that they had all accepted him as their undisputed leader, trying not to look overwhelmed at the responsibility; he tried to project himself undaunted at the task, while he continued to relay instructions.

"Alistair and Sten, I want you behind the wagons, bringing up the rear." He didn't wait to hear their affirmative answers before he continued, "Cauthrien, Morrigan, and Hawke that leaves you three to walk with the wagons." He clapped his gauntleted hands together, realizing once he was finished that he needed the speech more than the others. He needed to hear his own words. He needed to see the reactions from his companions. It affirmed in him the responsibility that was being placed on his shoulders. They would follow him. It was a terrifying feeling to come to grips with the realization that the fate of a country, of a population hinged on him. He pushed down that anxiety the best he could. He no longer had the luxury to fret. He had to just lead.

Looking around at the diverse group of companions, who were following his orders, trusting in his judgment. Lothering was only the beginning.

"Come, let us be off. We have many miles to go, before we break for camp."

* * *

><p><strong>AU: Well, you the readers decided, the Hawkes are joining Marcus and company. Hopefully, I did the scenes and characters justice. That concludes the Lothering story arc.<strong>

**Don't forget to review, to let me know what you think, **

**Next Chapter-Soldier's Peak**

**Until next time, **

**Spectre4hire**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to Badger2430, Kalom, 'Guest,' Mike3207, 'Guest,' Serfius, Pancakelove, 'Matian,' and DarkquillMaster for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. **

**Rising Sun**

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Location: Soldier's Peak, Ferelden **

It had been three days since Marcus and company arrived at the old Grey Warden fortress. Upon arriving, they had to battle a legion of undead and plenty of demons before finally ending the threat and securing the fortress. Now, all was quiet at Soldier's Peak.

The fortress was even more impressive and breathtaking than Marcus had envisioned. It would serve as a valuable base of operations for him and the others as they travel across Ferelden to gather allies and armies to stop the Blight. He was confident that with some adjustments, and repairs, that this fortress could repel the darkspawn horde itself.

The Drydens, who were trickling back to the fortress, were taking up in the houses and buildings that surrounded Soldier's Peak. It was a village onto itself. The family was pitching in with the cleaning of the fortress, repairing, and gathering fresh supplies to help make the area livable again. The focus of everyone's effort and energy at the moment was centered on the east wing of the fortress. The wing had more than two dozen spacious bedrooms, allowing for plenty of space and privacy for Marcus' diverse group of companions. There were so many rooms, he could recruit another dozen companions, and they'd still have plenty of room to house them all.

Soldier's Peak was far from rivaling the hospitality of Cousland Castle. It being occupied by nothing but skeletons and demons the past few centuries had brought the fortress in need of some serious repairs. The rooms and halls were filled with a musty odor, mixed in with death and decay that made it difficult to stay in one room too long, even with windows open and candles lit. Progress was slowly being made, new furniture, drapes, carpets, and plenty of candles were being brought in to help make Soldier's Peak, not only livable, but comfortable for Marcus and the others.

To Marcus, it just wasn't about function but feel, believing that besides a base of operations, Soldier's Peak should serve as a place of solitude, and refuge to not just himself, but to all of his companions. The task ahead of them was daunting, and Marcus wanted them and the others to have a cozy place for them to stop and rest, somewhere they could lay down their burden, relax, and replenish themselves before going out again.

At the moment, he was in his own chambers. Judging by the size and faded grandeur of the room he had taken in the east wing. He suspected this room once belonged to a high ranking Grey Warden or even dignitaries if or when they came to visit. Tall bookshelves lined the far side wall, while the opposite wall had two large windows that provided a beautiful view of the grounds, and allowed for plenty of sunlight. A large four poster bed was positioned against the side wall, while a large hearth was carved into the opposite wall. There was a small circular room off to the side; its walls were windows that provided plenty of light for the small study.

This was where Marcus currently was, sitting at the desk, sprawled out in front of him were the Grey Warden treaties that Duncan had entrusted to him before the Battle of Ostagar. He was in the process of trying to decide where best to begin their quest. It was two treaties that held his interest: The Circle of Magi and Orzammar. He had put the treaty with the Dalish elves off to the side. They were a nomadic people, with no permanent settlement, finding them would be quite the undertaking, especially since at the moment; he wouldn't know where to begin. He knew they couldn't waste time trekking across Ferelden in search of them, when a part of Marcus believed that if the Dalish haven't left Ferelden yet, they soon will.

No, instead his focus was on the dwarves and the mages. In trying to make a decision, he had drawn up a list, listing the pros and cons for each. Before he made these lists, he had an idea of where he wanted to go to first. However, realizing how much was depending on him; Marcus wasn't going to be satisfied with his decision; until he looked at his choices through every scope and at every possible angle he could. It wasn't a fun process, but in the end, he was comfortable with his choice, believing his decision was the most logical and beneficial to stopping the Blight.

He had never been trained for this. To gather allies, recruit armies, organize a defense against a darkspawn horde. These were the stories that he read. They belonged to the annals of history. Yet, now he found himself in the presence of the greatest threat in Ferelden's history. To say, he was apprehensive would be an understatement. The fate of Ferelden was resting on his shoulders.

He sighed. Having enough of looking at the treaties, he pushed his seat away from his desk, swiveling his chair, so that he could face the rest of the room. "What are we going to do, Padfoot?"

The mabari perked at the sound of his voice, having made himself comfortable by lying by the hearth to keep warm from the cold morning. He stirred, raising his head, his intelligent black eyes resting on Marcus.

Marcus gave a weary smile to Padfoot. Calling his hound over, Padfoot obliged, standing from his comfortable spot. The hound stretching his front legs, in what looked to be a bow, before stretching his back legs, right then left. Padfoot then padded over to him, licking Marcus' outstretched hands when reaching him.

"Our situation seems hopeless, Padfoot," Marcus sighed, as his mabari's bulky head rested on his lap. He gently began to scratch his hound behind his ears.

Marcus had always cherished Padfoot's company. Ever since they were imprinted, he would tell his hound everything: his hopes, his fears, his anxieties, and Marcus would be lying if he said; he didn't feel immensely better after his talks with his mabari. Regardless if Padfoot couldn't verbally communicate back, Marcus could always interpret his hound's responses. To him, he couldn't think of better council than his hound.

Padfoot whined, nuzzling his nose against Marcus' palm, leaving behind a wet mark.

"Okay, maybe not hopeless," Marcus amended, looking down to see Padfoot's eyes resting on him. "What would they have me do? I…I don't think I can do this, boy."

Padfoot let out a low sounding groan, as if to say: he didn't agree.

"I'm not a warrior," Marcus pointed out, defending his previous remarks.

Padfoot responded with a soft growl.

"That's true. I can always depend on you to protect me."

Padfoot seemed to agree letting out a deep harrumph that resonated from his chest.

"Well boy, as long as I got you with me, how can I fail?" he asked, gently scrubbing the top of his hound's head.

Padfoot replied with what Marcus would peg as a very proud bark.

"Warden?"

Master and hound turned to see Levi Dryden standing in the doorway.

"Levi," Marcus greeted cordially. "Please come in." He gestured to the chair nearest his seat. Padfoot padded back over to his comfortable spot by the hearth, but not before giving the guest a curious sniff.

This was part of the reason why Marcus had remained at the fortress for these past three days. It wasn't just to allow his companions to rest, but for him to wait. Upon figuring out that one of Levi's brothers was coming from Denerim, Marcus had decided that he wouldn't leave Soldier's Peak until he heard from this brother. He wanted to get a better understanding of what was happening in the rest of Ferelden.

The information he had gathered through gossip at Lothering hadn't painted a very clear picture. There was a certain amount of importance placed on information. Marcus felt that he'd be blind if he left the Grey Wardens' fortress without knowing what was going on around Ferelden. Especially after Ostagar and the death of the king, he needed to know who was in charge of the country. He had no doubt that Anora was still queen, knowing her well enough to understand that it had been her who had been running Ferelden the past five years. Yet, she was no warrior or tactician, leaving the question of who would be running the remaining armies of Ferelden.

He also needed to know what had happened to Highever. He may have been forced to submit to the Taint and to join the Grey Wardens, and was now unceremoniously dumped with the task of stopping this Blight. His heart and attention still remained on his family's ancestral home. He remembered Cailan assuring him that the king would turn the army north to bring Howe to justice after Ostagar. But then the battle had happened, the king was dead, and much of the army destroyed.

Levi took the offered seat, "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did," Marcus replied, he picked up a folded piece of vellum before offering it to the merchant. "This is a list of things I would like for you to procure for me next time you are in Denerim."

"Very well, Warden," taking the folded piece of vellum. He examined it, looking ready to open it, but Marcus stopped him.

"There will be time for you to read it." He then pulled out a small coin purse, presenting it to Levi. "It would be improper of me to have you pay for these things yourself."

He didn't take the coin. "No, Warden." He tucked the piece of vellum into his pocket. "My family owes you a great debt for your help."

"Levi—"

"No, Warden," he was shaking his hands. "I won't hear of it."

Marcus realized that the merchant wouldn't back down. "Thank you, Levi."

He smiled and nodded, "is that all you wanted to see me about?"

"No, that's not everything." Marcus made a gesture to keep him from getting up. "I was told your brother has just returned from Denerim."

"Indeed, he has," Levi said, "he came back this morning."

Marcus folded his hands into his lap. "I was wondering what news he has from the capital?"

"Well, he is currently in bed resting," Levi answered, delicately, "but if you do not mind, I can pass along what he told me."

"That would be suitable," Marcus decided.

Levi looked thankful that Marcus wasn't going to have him disturb his brother's rest. "Thank you, Warden." He then adapted a more pensive look as if trying to remember what his brother had told him. "Well, let's see he told me the capital was bustling since Ostagar. Much of the country's Banns have come to Denerim to discuss the best ways in handling the Blight."

_That sounds about right,_ Marcus inwardly mused, realizing that with the death of the king, that Anora would need to bring order to the country, and the best way to do so was to meet with the Banns.

"At the meeting, Her Majesty declared her father—Teyrn Loghain to serve as regent and leader of Ferelden's armies."

Again, Marcus had suspected this from the queen. Knowing that Anora was very careful with who she trusted, and very conscious of her role as queen and the fragile amount of power she held, even more so now that her husband was dead. So it made sense that she would give the task to her father, and her father alone to lead the remaining armies of Ferelden.

"What else?"

Levi rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Well, the new Teyrn of Highever was officially sworn in."

"Oh?"

"Yes, a Rendon Howe—"

"What?" growled Marcus, clenching the arms of his seat so tight his knuckles went white.

"Is something wrong, Warden?"

"Surely, your brother is mistaken," Marcus said slowly and in between clenched teeth. He refused to believe that Howe would be given his parent's Teyrn.

"No, there's no mistake, Warden," Levi explained. "The Teyrn-"

"Don't call him that!" snapped Marcus.

Levi paled, "forgive me, Warden, I meant no disrespect."

Marcus forced himself to take a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly. "I'm sorry, Levi, please continue."

"It's just that, Howe brought evidence before Loghain and the Queen justifying his assault on Highever?"

Marcus opened his eyes. "What madness is this?"

"Howe had papers that the Couslands were traitors to Ferelden-"

"Lies!" Marcus snarled, pushing himself out of his seat so quickly and with so much force he nearly tackled the adjacent sitting Levi. He could see that the latter was looking increasingly confused and uncomfortable, but Marcus paid him no heed. His attention was on what had just been said.

He couldn't believe what was happening. Marcus should've known that Howe, being the manipulative snake that he was, would have some sort of excuse for the slaughter he orchestrated. There would've been no other way to try to justify his unlawful siege of Cousland Castle. Yet, even with Howe's manipulations, Marcus would think that both Loghain and Anora were better than this.

The former knew the truth of what happened at Highever, having been told it at Ostagar. And even though Anora wasn't privy to that information, she loved his mother, who had taught her everything she knew about politics and the court, so for Anora to readily believe that Marcus' parents would be traitors to Ferelden it was a disgrace and an insult to the memory of his parents.

Marcus could feel a white hot anger swelling within his chest. It was further fueled at the realization that his mentor Loghain and his friend Anora would allow Howe to get away with his treachery. His parents' bodies weren't even cold and their names, their legacies, were being dragged through the mud. While the ancestral home of the Couslands that could be dated back to King Calenhad were being willingly handed over to a butcher. A man who slaughtered everyone within Cousland Castle, his parents, Oriana, Oren, the guards, the servants, no one was spared.

He was pacing in front of the hearth. He took a few deep breaths to try to calm the torrent of emotions that were swirling within. "This…This is impossible."

"I'm sorry, Warden," Levi said, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"What of the Grand Cleric?" Marcus asked suddenly, stopping in his steps. He knew he was grasping at straws, but surely someone would stand up to his parents' murder. Surely someone saw through the veil of lies, and recognized Howe's actions for what it was—Murder.

Levi turned away from him, "She…she did the blessing."

"This can't be happening," Marcus said, numbly, sliding to the floor beside Padfoot. His hound having perked up from his rest, upon hearing his master's raised voice.

"Yes," Levi said, his hands fidgeted in his lap. "Denerim is going through some changes. The new Arl is up to something that has the Alienage up in arms."

Marcus looked up, "the new Arl?"

"Arl Urien was killed at Ostagar," Levi explained, before dropping his voice to just above a whisper before adding. "My brother heard a rumor that he wasn't killed at Ostagar, though, but that he was done in by Antivan Crows en-route to Ostagar."

"That would mean," Marcus began, silently recalling who the successor to Urien's title would be…

Levi was nodding. "Yes, that's right it passed to his son, a terrible, shallow man."

"Vaughan," finished Marcus, not bothering to hide his disgust of the man. He had encountered the spoiled, bigoted noble at his Nelaros' wedding at the Denerim Alienage. He had reported his findings of not just the Alienage but Vaughan's own behavior to Anora herself, she had seemed adamant and genuine in her vow to properly investigate these claims.

"Yes," confirmed Levi, "He's working very closely with Loghain and Howe."

_This couldn't be happening, _Marcus thought numbly. He put his head in his hands trying to comprehend everything that he was told. He couldn't understand why Loghain, a man of character and quality, a man of humble roots who always judged a man by character not class. Would now associate himself with such vile men in Howe and Vaughan and form this new Ferelden triumvirate. It was not just Loghain, but Anora, she had been taught by Marcus' mother for years, and now she was turning her back on his mother just as Loghain was turning his back on Marcus' parents.

He felt his chest tighten. A cold feeling of numbness filled him. He felt sick to his stomach. After Highever was attacked, Marcus had been so confident that Howe would be brought to justice. He had be so sure that it would happen that he hadn't even allowed himself to think of another scenario that would allow not only for Howe to live but to be given his father's title and his family's land.

In that moment, Marcus made a silent vow: he would not forget this injustice. He would remember this. He would see justice done, he would see his family's land restored, and his parents' legacy honored.

Maybe it was out of anger, or annoyance, or even disappointment but Marcus couldn't forget or ignore those who were keeping quiet. He didn't care if it was his friend, the Queen of Ferelden, his mentor, the fabled hero of the River Dane, and even the Grand Cleric. They too needed to be held responsible for their inability to see justice done. They, who allowed sedition to be rewarded, they, who gave his parents' murderer new riches and titles.

It was unacceptable. There were no excuses.

* * *

><p>They'd be leaving Soldier's Peak soon. Marcus had picked his companions. They were in the midst of packing and preparing to leave. He chose a large and diverse party more out of precaution in case of coming across bandits or darkspawn en-route to Kinloch Hold, than for the actual meeting with the Circle of Magi. He wasn't expecting any sort of trouble when it came to dealing with the Templars and the Mages. He wasn't planning on dallying at the Tower. He wanted to secure the alliance, recruit a healer for his group, and bring with him envoys of both the Circle and the Templars to Soldier's Peak. He was aiming to be back at Soldier's Peak inside a month.<p>

Walking the grounds of the Grey Warden fortress, watching the bustling of the Drydens, it would seem impossible that just a few short days ago that this fortress was crawling with possessed corpses and sinister demons. Now, the corpses were removed, the demons were defeated, and slowly, but surely, stability was being established at the fortress. There was a livelier atmosphere settling itself in the village in the shadows of the fortress. Where the Dryden men applied their trade, and set up their shop, inspect their wares. The kids were running and playing, oblivious to the horrors that inflicted this place, only days prior.

Entering the courtyard, Marcus found his fellow Grey Wardens—Daveth and Jory. The former was wielding new daggers, a gift from Mikhail Dryden, since his original pair had been lost. The rogue was testing out the blades, pretending he was fighting a horde of darkspawn it seemed as his swords cut and sliced through the air.

The latter, Ser Jory was sitting at a nearby bench. His eyes were following Daveth's movement, but upon looking closer Marcus noticed the glazed over look in the warrior's eyes; hinting that the Redcliffe warrior's mind was preoccupied with other thoughts.

At his approach, neither Warden could see his entrance. He crossed his arms over his chest, silently watching the skillful rogue continue his training, "Wardens."

"Your Grace!" Jory exclaimed, hastily trying to get to his feet to properly greet Marcus.

"That's not necessary, Jory," Marcus assured him, holding his hand up to stop the wounded warrior from standing up.

"Yeah," Daveth said, his back remained to Marcus. "Don't ya remember, blockhead. We're all equals now." He turned to greet him, "my liege."

Marcus snorted, "Good to see those peasants didn't beat out that wonderful personality of yours."

It was Daveth's turn to chuckle, offering him a shrug.

"The daggers seem to suit you well," Marcus pointed out.

"They're alright," Daveth replied, his voice not carrying his usual cockiness.

"Just alright?" asked Marcus, sensing that something might be bothering the cutpurse.

"It's easy to practice with them when you're cutting through air," Daveth answered, his lips curved upwards into a smile when his brown eyes fell on him. "What do you say?"

Marcus understood what the rogue was suggesting. He, at the moment was only carrying a simple warden longsword. He was waiting for Mikhail to finish crafting his new sword out of the star metal that Marcus had found on his way to Soldier's Peak. He was hoping to get the sword before setting out from Soldier's Peak in the next hour or so.

"What's the matter, my lord?" Daveth asked, taking Marcus' silence as a show of disinterest. "Is a duel with a street urchin to unbecoming of a nobleman of your stature?"

"Not, at all," he replied, smoothly, noticing Daveth's grin only grew upon his decision to accept his challenge.

The rogue cracked his neck, before stretching out his legs and then his arms.

Marcus withdrew his simple longsword from its sheath, angling the blade at the cutpurse. It was a difficult balancing act for him, since he was not a very proficient swordsman. And to add his disadvantage, he wasn't very well rehearsed in single sword combat. He was use to carrying a shield with him, and even with the shield, he didn't consider himself an above average warrior.

"Your Grace," protested Jory from the bench. "Are you sure this is wise?"

He kept his eyes on Daveth, "No, not all, Jory."

Daveth chuckled, a gleam in his eyes. He crossed his daggers in front of him, before offering Marcus a curt nod, whether it was a sign of respect or part of some sort of tradition, Marcus could only guess. Once the bow was complete, he struck. The rogue was incredibly swift, his daggers a blur as they sliced through the air towards Marcus. He parried the first dagger, and met the second dagger just in time, the tip of the blade missing his unarmored chest by a hair.

Marcus swatted the dagger away, earning a laugh and further goading from Daveth.

"You must keep up, my liege." He then jumped backwards, putting some space between himself and Marcus, and slowly began to circle him like a predator would to injured prey.

He watched the rogue warily, "You never told me about your previous pair of daggers."

The rogue's features immediately clouded over. His lips pressed into a thin line. "It's nothing." He tried to dismiss, he was still circling Marcus, but his eyes weren't carrying the same confident glint as they had been before the mention of his daggers. "It…It's just that I was fond of the pair of daggers I had."

Marcus had only time to process the change in Daveth's demeanor before the rogue struck once more. One dagger swung high aiming for Marcus' shoulders. He was able to duck below the blade, feeling the gentle swish of the air that the blade cut through. He met the second dagger with his longsword. The two blades locked with one another.

"You're not trying to distract me are you, my liege?" Daveth asked, suspiciously, dagger and sword spitting sparks as the two steel blades clashed against one another.

"Never," Marcus answered, seeing Daveth bringing his second dagger to bear on him. He tugged his longsword away from the first dagger, angled the blade just in time to block Daveth's attack. He pushed forward, breaking past Daveth's daggers, and taking the offensive with a series of thrusts, but the rogue deflected them with ease.

"You'd think it's silly," Daveth remarked, while lazily swatting Marcus' incoming strikes.

"Not at all," Marcus assured him. "How did you come by them?"

"They were a gift."

_That made sense,_ Marcus thought, having come to a similar conclusion. "Were they from a friend?"

"Yeah," Daveth nodded, he seemed tired being on the defensive. The rogue quickly changed his stance and tactics, with his left dagger he parried Marcus' sword and with his right dagger he struck in a high cutting arc, he was just able to sidestep the dagger, missing it by inches.

"He's not wearing armor, Daveth!" Jory cried.

The rogue ignored the Redcliffe warrior's warning. His eyes remain locked on Marcus. "You could call him that."

"Who was he?"

"His name was Slim," Daveth chuckled, his offensive stance momentarily dropping at the pleasant memory. "You'd understand the humor if you met the man." He leapt backwards, now out of reach of Marcus' longsword.

"He's the one who found me in Denerim when I ran away. He took me in. He was like a mentor to me, teaching me everything about cut-pursing, fighting, and stealth. He looked out for me always provided me with the best tips for pending targets."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He was," he affirmed. "My daggers were a gift from him after a very successful job."

"You may yet see him again."

Daveth perked at this, "Truly?"

"Yeah," Marcus said, "When we go to Denerim, it may be smart to seek him out. He sounds like a man of information within the city."

"Oh you bet your ass he is!" Daveth said proudly. "Few know Denerim better than Slim Couldry!"

While silently pleased that Daveth took heart in this news, Marcus had also detected a weakness in the rogue's stance. Upon seeing it, he took his chance, lunging with his longsword, but the strike was easily parried. It seemed Daveth had been expecting Marcus' attack, especially if his cocky grin was anything to go by.

The cutpurse didn't even look to be trying. He brought his second dagger on Marcus' sword, trapping his blade in between the daggers. Marcus tried to yank his sword free, but Daveth's daggers had his weapon effectively pinned.

"That's the problem with you nobility," Daveth lectured, a dark gleam in his eyes. "You think fighting is a gentleman's sport."

With those words and to prove his point, Daveth lashed out with a sudden kick, connecting with Marcus' leg. He cried out in pain, his leg buckling from the surprised attack. His longsword momentarily forgotten, and Daveth seized the advantage. With a flick of his daggers, Marcus' sword was instantly dislodged from his grip, clattering to the ground.

Daveth wasn't done yet. He moved forward, delivering a second kick, this time to Marcus' unprotected midsection. He coughed and grunted, grimacing in pain at having the wind knocked out of him. Marcus fell to his knees, still reeling from the second kick, as he tried to get his breathing back under control. From the corner of his eye, he spotted his longsword not willing to accept defeat quiet yet, he lunged for his fallen blade, but Daveth was waiting.

The rogue smacked Marcus in the back of the head with the pommel of the dagger. Marcus saw stars enter his vision, feeling a surge of pain, and a nasty headache, he fell onto his stomach. His face in the ground, and the pain still present from the nasty hit on his head, he could hear Daveth's playful taunt.

"There are more uses for your sword besides the sharp tip, my liege."

Marcus groaned in response. He then pushed his face off of the ground. He blinked a few times, satisfied that he was no longer seeing stars. He brushed off the dirt from his face before pulling himself into a crouching position.

"Your Grace?" Jory cried out. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, rubbing the spot on the back of his head where Daveth had hit him, feeling a slight bump beneath his dark hair.

"Still," Jory didn't seem very pleased, turning to the rogue. "What were you thinking?"

Daveth shrugged. He sheathed his daggers, barely giving the Redcliffe warrior a glance when he answered him. "I was thinking about winning."

"Jory, its fine," Marcus said, trying to placate the outraged warrior. He still felt a little woozy from the combination of the two kicks and then the pommel strike. "Daveth isn't the first to best me." He paused, making a quick mental count before continuing. "In fact, he's about number twenty-eight."

The rogue chuckled, stepping towards him and offering his hand. Marcus took it, as the rogue pulled him back up to his feet. "That's the spirit, my liege."

Marcus had the humility to smile at Daveth's playful teasing. He knew the rogue had beaten him fairly. It also didn't prickle his pride since he never really considered himself much of a warrior.

"I hope our little duel proved to you that I am ready to fight," Daveth said, hinting at his disappointment in not being chosen to accompany Marcus to Kinloch Hold.

"I never doubted your health, Daveth," Marcus assured his fellow Warden. He knew that the rogue seemed to have only suffered minor injuries, most notably superficial ones to his face.

"Oh?" Daveth asked, not bothering to hide his confusion. "Then why wasn't I chosen?"

"There's something else I must ask of you," Marcus answered, sheathing his longsword.

"What's that?"

"I need you to deliver a message to me," Marcus answered, producing a sealed letter. He presented it to the Denerim cutpurse. "I need you to take this to Highever-"

"Highever?" It was Ser Jory. The Redcliffe warrior seemingly reanimated at the mention of the city. "My Helena is in Highever!"

Marcus looked into his eyes to see them brimming with excitement at the reminder of his wife. It was a welcome sight. Since these past few days Jory had been incredibly gloomy. His injured arm had dampened his spirit. The warrior felt useless, since his injury made it impossible for him fight. This meant that he had to watch the others fight the demons and the corpses, not an easy task for a proud warrior.

"Let me go, my lord," Jory pleaded. "Daveth will need someone who knows the city."

"He makes a good point," Daveth agreed.

Marcus couldn't fault Jory's reasoning. On the surface it seemed like not only a reasonable request, but a suitable task for the knight. Yet, for some reason, something that Marcus couldn't explain or describe was causing him to pause in agreeing to allow him to go with Daveth. It was a feeling in his gut, warning him that it may not be a good idea to let him go with Daveth. "Jory, this is not for pleasure. This serves a purpose."

"A purpose I will see followed through!" Jory was all but begging. "I swore service to your father, Lord Cousland. Please, let me go."

"Very well," Marcus acquiesced, feeling his stomach twist. "But you must be careful. You cannot be recognized by anyone outside your wife."

"I will," Jory said, his tone brimming with excitement. He tried to cross his arms, but winced at the pain from his other arm, which remained in a sling. That didn't stop him from bowing his head to Marcus to show his gratitude.

"I suppose I could tolerate blockhead for a few more days," Daveth said in jest, his eyes then turned to the letter in Marcus' hand. "Who's the message for?"

"Nelaros," answered Marcus. "You can find him and his wife, Kallian in the Alienage."

"He's an elf?" asked Daveth, not hiding his surprise at being tasked to deliver a letter to an elf.

"He is a friend," corrected Marcus. "And he will be a useful ally for a future endeavor…"

Daveth seemed to sense the meaning behind his vague words. "Your thoughts are on Highever?"

"Yes."

"But the Grey Wardens-"

"I am a Cousland," Marcus growled, clenching his jaw. He tightened the grip on the letter in his hand. "I will not forget my family, my people, or my duty to them."

"My apologies," Daveth said, taking the letter from his grasp. "But wouldn't your friend believe you died within the castle?" Daveth said delicately. "What if your friend suspects this to be a trick?"

"Present him with this," Marcus said, removing a necklace from around his neck. It was a simple chain with a key attached to it. "With this and the letter he will know you were sent by me."

If Daveth was confused by the item, he didn't show it. He took the necklace, and pocketed it. He then put the letter in a small pouch clipped to his hip. "I will see it done."

"You two should set out at once," Marcus instructed turning first to Daveth, and then to Jory.

"I will not fail you, Your Grace," Jory swore, bowing once more.

"Nor will I," Daveth added. He and Jory turned to go back up to the fortress to gather their things so they could set out quickly. The rogue hadn't taken a few steps before stopping, and turning back to Marcus, his countenance solemn when he spoke. "When the time comes for you to take back Highever, you will have my daggers."

Marcus wasn't sure what was more surprising. The seriousness in the carefree rogue's expression or the sudden vow he made. "Thank you." He replied, sincerely. His eyes resting on the two men, who had been strangers to him only weeks ago, now, they were fellow Wardens. They were not just friends, but brothers-in-arms. Who were willing to help him reclaim his home.

"I could not ask for better allies."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is technically a novelization of Origins, but I'll not be writing out every quest that occurs in the game. Some of them will be skimmed, summarized, or even altered, such as the case with Soldier's Peak in this chapter.**

**Next Chapter- The second and final part of the Soldier's Peak arc. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**-Spectre4hire**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to 'Guest,' dominicgrim, DarkquillMaster, Janizary, Mike3207, borismortys, Matian, Badger2430, and olivegbg for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated.**

**Rising Sun**

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Location: Soldier's Peak, Ferelden**

After seeing off Daveth and Jory, Marcus was hoping to soon leave Soldier's Peak as well. He still had a few things he needed to before he could set off for the Circle of Magi with his chosen companions. As Marcus walked through the grounds of Soldier's Peak his eyes drifted to the fortress' tallest tower. Seeing the tower looming over head reminded him of the choices he had to make when he and the others first arrived here.

In order to seal the veil, and stop the demons from coming, Marcus had to make an unsavory alliance. His choices were far from pleasant, one option was a demon that was possessing Sophia Dryden's rotting corpse. The other option was a Grey Warden mage who had lived through the siege against King Arland. He managed to stave off death through questionable means to continue his work on equally questionable research. For Marcus, the decision on who to align with was very straight forward. Between a mage and a demon, he chose the mage. So Marcus had formed an alliance with Avernus, and he and his companions had been able to defeat the demon and its band of undead minions.

In the aftermath of sealing the veil, Marcus had made the unpopular decision to spare the mage, and encouraged him to continue his research. Most were not pleased with this decision, and there were some who were vehemently against it, Leliana and Cauthrien. It was easy for them to voice their displeasure on an issue they couldn't even begin to grasp. Neither of them had to endure the pain and torment that was constantly inflicting Marcus. To him it was the Warden's curse, and he'd do nearly anything to try to find a way to stave off some of the unsavory symptoms of being a Grey Warden, and if the mage's research could find a way to cure this taint then Marcus would be the first to try it.

"Warden," greeted the gruff Mikhael Dryden.

"I got your message," replied Marcus, coming to a halt in front of the weaponsmith's stand. He had wasted no time in unpacking his stock, an array of impressive swords, daggers, axes, and shields were on display. Not to mention there were a few armor stands to show off the impressive craftsmanship on a plethora of chest plates, and helms.

"Good," Mikhael said, "I have finished your sword and shield."

Realizing that Mikhael didn't possess his brother's social skills Marcus took this report with a nod, "May I see them?"

"Yes," Mikhael answered, gesturing to a steel kite shield that had been put aside.

Marcus looked at him for permission to pick it up, he got it with a curt nod. He picked up the shield, pleased at its weight, and as requested the shield was bare with no heraldries. He had asked for a new set of sword and shield, because he didn't want to further damage the family heirlooms. The Cousland family sword could be traced back to King Calenhad, while the shield had been used by Teyrn Ardal Cousland, who had died in the Battle of Lothering defending King Vanedrin from the Orlesians. "This will do nicely."

"As of the starmetal," Mikhael was saying as he bent down to pick up a longsword draped in a simple cloth. "I was able to make the longsword you requested."

Marcus carefully removed the cloth revealing the most beautiful sword he'd ever seen. He tentatively picked up the blade, surprised by how light it was. He took a few steps back, giving himself room to test its weight and balance. Marcus gave it a few practiced swings, amazed how easy he was able to make them, feeling as if the sword was an extension of his arm.

"Well, Warden?"

"It's remarkable," Marcus answered, his eyes lingering on the finely crafted sword before turning to its creator to see the usual stoic smith was smiling proudly. All Marcus could do was nod, as he returned his eyes to the remarkable blade in his hands. Taking it in, a thought seeped into his mind. _He didn't deserve this sword._

The revelation stung, because as Marcus contemplated it, he realized it was the truth. He didn't deserve this extraordinary blade. He, an average swordsman didn't deserve to wield a blade that was worthy of kings. Even how he found the ore was hardly the stuff of legends. He had been scouting ahead with Padfoot to make sure Bodahn and Levi's wagons would be able to pass. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going and fell into the crater. Thankfully, no one had witnessed the embarrassing plunge besides Padfoot. That was the leader they were following; someone who couldn't even watch where he was going.

"Is something wrong, Warden?"

As Marcus had been thinking about the circumstances surrounding finding the ore, the smile that was on his face had dipped into a frown. He sighed knowing what he needed to do. He carefully put the sword back on the smith's stand. "I don't deserve this."

It was Mikhael's turn to frown. "You do not like it?"

"No, it's truly the greatest sword I've ever seen," Marcus admitted, "But I don't think I have the skills properly suited for it."

"Bullshit."

That clearly wasn't the response Marcus had been expecting from the impassive smith. "It's the truth."

"You are a leader, Warden," Mikhael pointed out, Marcus made an attempt to rebut but Mikhael's stare caused him to close his mouth. "Denying it doesn't make it less so."

"Look-" Marcus began, but Mikhael was having none of it.

"No, you listen," Mikhael scolded him, jabbing his finger at him. "Modesty is good, but there is nothing wrong with having confidence in yourself." He then gestured a calloused hand towards himself. "Look at me, what kind of smith would I be if every time a customer asked me to do a job I would try to dissuade them by saying I'm only decent and that they should take their business elsewhere," he scoffed. "I'd be out of business in a week!"

"That's different," Marcus frowned, not believing it was a fair comparison between himself and the smith. It was evident that Mikhael was talented, but there wasn't any evidence that he was a leader.

"You need to embrace your leadership position or this will all end in spectacular disaster."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is," Mikhael was nodding. "You have a gift, Warden, and it's up to you to accept this mantle put on you. If you are not confident in your role, how will that reflect on your orders if they can see your doubt? How can they perform their tasks when their own leader is paralyzed with self-doubt?"

Marcus didn't want to admit it, but he saw the logic in Mikhael's observations, and could see the truth in his warning. He wouldn't have thought that he would be given such good advice on leadership from the usual stoic smith. Yet, as Marcus reflected on his words, he knew that he would have to change his approach, he needed to accept his role, and find some inner confidence so that he could help bolster the spirits of those he traveled with.

Mikhael brought his point home by pointing to the sword between them. "Like this sword you have the utmost potential, but also like this blade you have yet to be tested, but I am confident when this is all over you both will become legends."

"You're right," Marcus finally admitted out loud. Realizing that now was the time for him to shed his self doubt once and for all and fully embrace his role as the leader.

Mikhael gave a tight, barely recognizable smile underneath his bushy mustache "Damn right, I am." He then picked up the sword, offering it for Marcus to take. "This is my finest creation, Warden, and I couldn't think of a better person who deserved the right to carry her then you."

"Thank you," Marcus said, picking up on the weaponsmith's choice of word to describe the blade. "Her? She has a name?"

"Starfang."

* * *

><p>Marcus had a very uneasy feeling as he stepped inside the room that led to Avernus' laboratory. Uncomfortable in being in a room that was stained by the mage's research and practices. He believed this was Avernus' library or study, judging by the number of tomes and other books that were scattered across the room. Not to mention the desks that had mountains of vellums piled on top of them and were threatening to spill over.<p>

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the uneasy feeling in his gut to only grow as he stepped into the mage's laboratory. Just as the study had been stained with the mage's research, this room was tarnished, with an uncomfortable presence of the many souls who had perished to further Avernus' research still lingering in the room. All of whom were now silently judging Marcus for not just allowing this terrible place to remain, but keeping the one responsible alive and in a position to continue his questionable , there was no going back for Marcus Cousland. He understood that by sparing the mage and encouraging his research, his own morality had been marked.

Dungeon seemed a more appropriate term to describe the laboratory. This had become a place of torture and malice, long ago had the purpose of honest research and scientific study been perverted in his twisted experiments to suit his own needs. The pungent odor of fresh death and decaying corpses still remained to provide further testament of his savagery and determination to get results.

Making his way across the cavernous room, Marcus spotted the wizened mage up on his little stage, a slight separation for him and his work. Yet even this stage wasn't untouched from Avernus' brutality, walking up the steps Marcus spotted several stains of dried blood splatters across the wood paneling and he was sure he had seen a severed, decaying arm under one of Avernus' desks.

Marcus made no further attempt to approach the mage once he climbed the last steps onto the stage. Settling for leaning against the railing on the far side of the stage; wanting to put plenty of distance between himself and the mage. This was done on Marcus' part out of a combination of wariness and the sickly odor that was radiating off of Avernus.

He seemed to sense his presence, stiffening from where he was bent over looking at his research, but he didn't turn to greet Marcus. "You know, Warden. You remind me of someone."

"Is that so?" Marcus asked hiding his surprise at his opening remarks. His interactions with the mage had been limited, but the mage's candor had been disarming.

"I didn't see the similarities at-first," he began, "But, after watching you interact with your companions, I can see the resemblance between you two quite clearly."

"And who is that?"

"Sophia Dryden."

Of all the answers Marcus was suspecting, Sophia Dryden was not one of them. He had met the corpse, read about her handiwork using Blood Magic, summoning demons to save her and the other Wardens. It was disgusting. It was barbaric. He'd never use such methods, and for him to be compared to this woman who showed no qualms in doing so was an insult to Marcus. He didn't hide his distaste, scoffing at the suggestion.

Avernus bristled. "You cannot allow your opinion to be twisted on the great woman Sophia Dryden was because of your interactions with that demon that possessed her corpse."

"I'm nothing like her," he dismissed. It was an insult. He was sure to Avernus it was supposed to be meant as a compliment. Marcus remembered how the mage had spoken so fondly of his commander, claiming she was the best of them.

He closed his book turning to face Marcus for the first time. Avernus was just as ugly and wizened as he remembered. His skin took on a yellowish color, his cheeks gaunt, a bulbous nose, sunken eyes, with only a few wisps of white hair on-top his head. His face covered with the onset of wrinkles. He walked with a definite hunch, his fingers were long, and dirty, stained and blemished by both blood, and ink.

"The way you commanded your companions; how they looked to you to lead them."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Oh?" asked Avernus looking amused. "They accept your judgment even when they don't agree with your decision." He gestured to himself, "your companions wanted you to kill me, they were vehement against you sparing me, and yet here I am standing before you."

Marcus remained silent, mulling over Avernus' point. He didn't want to admit it, but he did see a grain of truth in his words. Marcus had been surprised when the others had eventually agreed with his decision, and that they were continuing to look to him to guide them, and even accept his orders when it is clear they didn't always agree with them.

"Oh, yes, there is greatness in you, Warden. That same spark that Sophia carried, that she used to rally us, I can sense in you." His sunken eyes remained on him. "She was a great leader, a great commander, who fought a tyrant king. She was willing to forsake Grey Warden neutrality to save her beloved Ferelden." His lips twisting upwards, "Doesn't that sound familiar?"

Marcus didn't know what was more unnerving how similar these comparisons between himself and Dryden were, or the fact that Avernus seemed to know current information about the outside world that the recluse shouldn't have known. In the back of his mind, Marcus remembered his earlier conversation with Avernus, who spoke very casually about using Blood Magic to control nobles during the rebellion against King Arland. Marcus was beginning to think it may have been a mistake not to bring Alistair or even Padfoot with him...

"Enough," Marcus said, tired of this conversation. This was not why he sought out Avernus. He didn't want to listen to old tales of Sophia Dryden. He wanted answers, and unfortunately for him it seemed Avernus was the only one capable of giving him the answers he wanted.

"Very well, Warden, I am at your disposal," Avernus said smoothly. "It is too soon for any results," he continued, his tone irritable, "I need more time," he paused, a sick gleam in his eyes, "and test subjects."

Marcus resisted the urge to shudder when he met the mage's stare. "No, I'm not here for results." He pressed on, before he lost his nerve and retreated out of the Tower, choosing to ignore Avernus' request for test subjects. "I'm here for answers."

Avernus' brow wrinkled, his lips pressed into a thin line, "answers?"

"Yes, I have many questions." Marcus wanted to know every dirty secret the Grey Wardens had. He wanted to know everything. It was information that Duncan denied him when he conscripted him. Marcus was already forced to learn on his own about the night terrors, and that his life span had diminished because of this Taint. He wanted to make sure there were no more nasty surprises waiting for him.

And just like that Avernus' countenance changed from curiosity to annoyance, throwing up his hands, "Pah! I am not a tutor, boy." He shook his head, "I am not bound to this world for long, and I will not waste my precious time answering your silly questions. So go pester someone else."

"There is no one else," Marcus replied stiffly, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He was beginning to think this was a mistake.

"If Commander Dryden could see the Order now," Avernus said, with a shake of his head. "A once proud fighting force that garnered awe throughout the common folk of Ferelden and respect throughout its nobility has been squandered down to this pitiful scene." He pointed an accusatory finger at Marcus, as if levying all the blame from what has transpired to the Grey Wardens squarely on his shoulders to bear.

"Do not blame me for the faults of your Order!" Marcus shot-back defensively.

"My Order?" repeated Avernus with a certain curiosity in his tone, before his sunken eyes went wide in understanding. "You were conscripted." He nodded at his logic before continuing, "Yes, I can tell by your stance, by your voice." His lips peeled back in a nasty smile, showing off his few teeth all of which were yellow.

"Tell me about the Joining," Marcus pressed forward. Now that Alistair had thrust the burden of Grey Warden leadership onto him, Marcus wanted to know about the ritual if he needed to recruit other wardens before this Blight was through.

"It is crude ritual, is it not?"

"I'll say," Marcus replied bitterly, remembering back to his all his to recent Joining, the memories bitterly fresh as he was told that he and the other recruits had to drink darkspawn blood. He remembered the lengths Alistair and Duncan were willing to go to protect their secrets…

"It is through taking in the Taint during the Joining do we get our power," Avernus explained. "But it comes at a cost since the blood is poisonous."

"Your research looked at the taint, at isolating the true power in the darkspawn blood without being poisoned in the attempt to consume it," Marcus pointed out, remembering coming across some of the pages of Avernus' work. He looked up to see the wizened mage seemed to look pleased and maybe even impressed that Marcus had read his work.

"That is true," Avernus agreed. "The Taint allows us to sense the darkspawn, and the longer we carry the taint, the more potent it becomes." He paused, closing his eyes, extending his hands out towards Marcus. "You are a new recruit."

"How can you tell?" Marcus asked, wary of the mage's magical abilities. It was why he came armed, just in case Avernus reneged on his word. He became more suspicious of the mage when Avernus didn't answer him right away. "You used your Blood Magic?"

Avernus scoffed at his suggestion, but didn't deny it either. "Do not allow yourself to be chained by ignorance, boy." Making a sweeping gesture he continued. "It is through Blood Magic that I am standing here in front of you to answer your silly questions."

"You speak of the Taint as if it's a blessing," Marcus observed, shaking his head in disgust.

"If we can unlock the raw power of the Taint that is already coursing through us, there would be no limits to our success!" Avernus countered, voicing his displeasure at Marcus' dismissive attitude. "If we could channel its potency and power we could increase our strength tenfold!

Marcus held up his hand to stop Avernus, he'd heard enough. He was sorry he even mentioned it, not wanting to listen to Avernus prattle on about the greatness of the Taint. Marcus had already experienced the so called greatness of the Taint. He was about to ask Avernus another question, when he noticed that the mage had his eyes closed and his hands were up and pointing in Marcus' direction. It sent off immediate warning bells inside his head, "Avernus?" he asked, preparing to withdraw his sword.

The mage's eyes suddenly opened. There was a gleam in his eyes, while his lips curled into a twisted smile. "You're a Blight Warden." He sounded excited in his declaration looking Marcus over with renewed interest.

"A-what?" Marcus asked, unsure what the mage was referring to, but if it got him this excited then he was sure it wasn't anything good.

"A Warden that is initiated during a Blight has a stronger connection to the Taint."

_That wasn't comforting, _Marcus thought.

"Yes, yes, you'd be the perfect subject," Avernus took a step towards him.

Marcus quickly withdrew his sword from its holster, leveling it at the mage. "Don't you dare try it, Avernus."

Avernus hissed his displeasure.

Marcus kept his sword pointed at the mage, knowing that it wasn't much of an obstacle to a Blood Mage of Avernus' power. "I…I have thirty years-"

At this Avernus started to laugh, a weak, wheezing sound. "You truly are a fool," he said, when he had stopped laughing. He looked Marcus over before turning around and shuffling back over to his desk. "You think you have thirty years?"

"What do you mean?" Marcus asked, trying to inject some strength in his voice while his insides were twisting themselves into knots.

"The Taint will consume you far more quickly than thirty years."

"You're lying!" Marcus shouted he had just had this conversation with Alistair. He had told Marcus that he had thirty years, and even then Marcus had been furious.

"Oh, I'm afraid not," Avernus said, that dark gleam returning to his eyes, "A Warden recruited during a Blight is given a stronger connection to the Taint, because the Archdemon is awakened, but it comes at a cost."

Marcus gulped, "what cost?"

"Through this stronger connection the process of the Taint spreading through your body is quickened," Avernus explained, bringing his hands in front of him. "You have somewhere between seven to ten years before your Calling."

His sword clattered to the ground. Marcus grasped onto the railing for support, feeling his legs buckle beneath him at the startling revelation. He felt icy numbness spreading through him, a tight pressure constricting around his heart. He blinked away tears. "You...you're wrong."

Avernus shook his head, and for the first time looked at Marcus with pity. He raised one of his wrinkled hands extending it towards a pile of tomes at the desk next to Marcus. "Look for yourself: written, recorded, and archived by the Grey Wardens who've come before us."

Marcus shook his head, still holding himself up by the railing. He closed his eyes, as a bout of dizziness and nausea hit him simultaneously. "No… This can't be true."

"I'm afraid it is."

"There must be a way," Marcus croaked.

"Perhaps… I may be able to prolong it," Avernus said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

"No," Marcus said, "No, I don't want it to be prolonged!" He brought his hands to his face, "I want it out of me!"

Avernus threw back his head, and laughed, "Out of you?" he repeated with amused dismay.

"Yes," Marcus said clenching his teeth, trying to reel in his anger, realizing that this Grey Warden Blood Mage may be his only hope in staving off this Taint and prolonging his life past a decade.

"You would toss aside this power? This opportunity?" Avernus asked in disbelief, he then shook his hand at Marcus. "You are unworthy of the honor of being initiated into our Order."

"Trust me, I want nothing to do with your fucking Order," Marcus spat.

Avernus glowered at this barb, taking a step towards Marcus; a crackle of energy escaping between the mage's fingertips.

"Avernus, I'm commanding you," Marcus warned, realizing that his sword remained on the ground from when he had dropped it. He was powerless to stop or even deflect an attack if Avernus chose to.

The wizened mage chuckled, "or what?" He clapped his hands and the energy disappeared with a crack. He then raised his hands, palms up, before giving a dismissive gesture. "I'm done listening to you, you may go."

Marcus' legs were still unsteady, moving like jelly, but he forced himself into a crouch to pick up his sword. One hand still on the railing, Marcus carefully walked backwards down the steps, his blue eyes never leaving the Blood Mage. He walked this way across the laboratory even when Avernus had shifted his attention back to his research.

"You know where to find me," Avernus called after him, "if you change your mind."

* * *

><p>Marcus had made his choices for the party that he'd be taking with him to the Circle of Magi, and Cauthrien wasn't on the list. The Gwaren soldier tried not to consider this a snub or allow it to prickle her pride. The farmer turned knight was walking through the still creepy corridors of Soldier's Peak after getting a summons from Marcus. Even with the demons and the undead perishing, she was still uneasy about the fortress. It didn't help her nerves to know that her stay in the fortress was extended indefinitely while Marcus and his select company were leaving within the hour.<p>

Not to mention news from Denerim reached her. The revelation of Loghain and Anora allowing Rendon Howe the Teyrnir of Highever had hit her like a pommel strike to the stomach. She couldn't believe that they'd grant him that prestigious position after he had butchered one of the oldest families in Ferelden. It was unsettling.

There was a growing part of Cauthrien who wanted to march on Denerim to demand answers from her Teyrn on these very questionable decisions. She wanted justice for the Cousland family. She wanted to see Howe punished for his brutality in slaughtering all within the Cousland Castle, including innocent servants, loyal guards, and helpless women and children.

The news from Denerim stewed within the idle knight, who would have plenty of time to dwell on this information since she was being left behind. She wouldn't be able to take out her anger on bandits or darkspawn. She wouldn't be able to distract herself with trying to recruit the mages and templars. No, she was destined to stay behind and have to silently endure this form of torture which she was powerless to confront or stop.

When she reached Marcus' quarters Cauthrien was quick to pause at the door, allowing herself a minute to corral her thoughts and reel in her emotions. Satisfied, the stoic knight then knocked, upon hearing permission to enter. She pushed open the door, stepping into the room to see her friend-Marcus sitting at his desk, looking to be scribbling something down. He didn't turn to greet her, but his mabari was quick to push himself up from his cozy position by the hearth to meet her.

Cauthrien crouched down to scrub Padfoot behind the ears, who rewarded her with a wet kiss on her cheek, before he padded back over to his spot. Upon standing up she looked to see that Marcus' newly acquired silverite armor was still on its stand and Marcus' newly created sword and shield were on his bed. For a man who was supposed to be leaving shortly, he didn't seem ready to depart.

"Cauthrien," he said, turning in his chair to greet her, offering her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

She was adept enough to see that something was off with him. Even behind his stoic demeanor, it didn't fool her. She knew him long enough to know when something was troubling him. "Marcus," she replied keeping her voice casual, not wanting to alert her friend of her growing suspicions quite yet.

"I'm running a little late," he said, before pushing himself out of the chair and walking over towards his armor stand. "You don't mind if we talk while I change?"

"No, that won't be a problem," she replied. After all they had been lovers for some time so watching him put on his armor over his clothing did nothing to upset her.

He smiled his thanks, but like his first smile this didn't hold his usual warmth or confidence, it looked tight and empty.

"Why are you running late?" She asked, watching him put on his armored leggings first.

He immediately paused, stiffening at her words, but he quickly recovered and slid his leggings over his knees and pulled them up to his waist. "It was nothing."

She knew at once that he was lying to her. Seeing his reaction to her question made her realize that whatever had taken place prior to her visit was the reason for his empty smiles and odd behavior.

"I spoke to Avernus," he said with a sigh, as if his own guilt coerced him to speak. He picked up his chest-plate slipping his head and arms through the appropriate slots. "It wasn't a pleasant conversation."

"That doesn't surprise me," Cauthrien replied, walking over to him, and helping him tie up the laces along the sides of the chest-plate.

"Yeah," he said stiffly, but made no attempt to clarify his conversation with Avernus. "As you know I'm leaving you behind while the others and I go off to recruit the templars and mages.

"I noticed," Cauthrien said tightly, her frustration evident as she pulled a bit too tightly on the laces of Marcus' chest-plate eliciting a hiss from him at the pressure. "Sorry."

He waved her apology off, "no, I probably deserved that." He gave a weak chuckle, already having slipped his boots and greaves on. "I'm not leaving you behind because I doubt you, Cauthrien, I'm leaving you behind because I trust you."

_You have a funny way of showing it, _was the first bitter thought that sprung to mind but she was disciplined enough not to let it slip aloud. Instead she settled for a question laced with feigned curiosity that sounded quite convincing to her ears. "What do you mean?"

Marcus walked over to his desk picking up a rolled up piece of parchment. "I'm entrusting you with protecting the remaining treaties while I'm gone." He walked back over to her, "Especially the treaty with the dwarves of Orzammar."

"I don't understand," she admitted wanting to trust her close friend, but at the same time the implied importance that he was putting on this menial task was baffling for her.

"After our business with the Circle is done, I'll contact you and the others to make your way along the North road to meet up with us," he answered, putting the rolled up treaty with the dwarves on his bed. "With the rest of our companions and the treaty we'll then all head out to Orzammar."

_Still, _she thought, _I would better serve you as a companion not a glorified messenger. _She didn't like the idea of being left behind while the others were out there helping him. She thought she could offer a lot more traveling by his side than by being left behind with some of the other less desirable companions-The Witch of the Wilds, the Qunari, and the petulant younger Hawke sibling rounded out the others who were staying behind with her. Yet, all three of them had been adamant in voicing their dislike for the Circle of Magi, making the decision for Marcus to leave them behind all the much easier for him to make. But not her, she wanted to be with him, she wanted to fight beside him, and she wanted to help him.

"Very well," she spoke up, realizing she had been quiet for some time and that Marcus was now watching her closely. "If this is how I can help you than I will."

"Cauthrien," he said gently seemingly sensing her displeasure at the task given to her. "I want you by my side too."

"Then why aren't I?" she challenged, her outburst fueled by her growing disappointment and annoyance that had been brewing before she entered his room.

"Because, no one else can instill discipline like you," he answered casually as if it was the most obvious answer. "I'm leaving you behind with some of the more unruly of our companions." He walked over to his armor stand to grab his gauntlets. Unlike the rest of his armor which was silverite, his gauntlets were studded leather.

"I don't trust anyone else in rallying them to lead them on the North Road when my business is concluded with the Circle." He paused slipping his left gauntlet over his hand and fastening it to his forearm. He looked up at her, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I'm pretty sure if I left Alistair behind and in charge, Morrigan would turn him into a toad."

Cauthrien couldn't stop the smile that came to her lips at that mental thought. When the amusement left her, she was left to ponder what he had said, realizing that he was leaving her behind because he trusted her above all others.

It filled her with embarrassment for doubting him, and for her earlier petulance directed at him. She also felt pride at realizing that he still regarded her so highly, above all the others they traveled with. She was determined to make sure that his trust in her wasn't squandered. With the news coming out of Denerim she knew that those he fully trusted was shrinking.

"I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. She walked over to him seeing him struggling with tying the laces on his gauntlets. She took his left arm in both her hands to stop him from squirming and began to first tighten the lace before tying it.

"Don't be," he said trying to dismiss her apology. "I can understand your annoyance, and I should be the one apologizing."

She looked up not hiding her confusion at his unexpected apology. "What do you mean?"

"I never should have let you think of your task as some sort of demotion," he answered. "I never want you to think that I'm taking you for granted, Cauthrien." He rested his right hand over her hands which had just finished with his left gauntlet. "Not a day goes by that I'm not thankful for you being here with me."

"Thank you, Marcus," she said, her words traveling just above a whisper, but she knew he heard them as he gently squeezed her hands, before letting go. The two friends fell into a comfortable silence as she focused her attention on his right gauntlet. "There you go." She said when she finished tying up the laces. She tentatively patted his hand before dropping her hands to her side.

Marcus flexed his fingers making sure it was a snug fit. Satisfied that they were, he nodded his thanks to her before making his way over to grab his sword and shield from his bed.

"When should I expect to hear from you?"

"Two to three weeks," he answered, sliding his shield onto his back.

Cauthrien noticed his kite shield was bare. She understood the decision for him not to put a heraldry banner upon his shield since Marcus' closest associations were both likely to get him arrested-the Cousland Family crest and the Grey Warden insignia.

"We'll be ready."

"I know you will be," he answered, attaching his sheathed sword to his hip. Padfoot having sensed that it was time to go had gotten up from his spot and made his way over to Marcus. "Good boy." He and his hound were heading for the door.

"Marcus," Cauthrien called back for him.

He stopped at the doorway turning back to her, "yes?"

"About the news from Denerim," she said tentatively, aware of how sensitive this topic would be to her friend. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for them," he said sternly. "You didn't betray and abandon me, Cauthrien."

"I know, but still-"

He shook his head. "No, Cauthrien, you're with me." He reminded her, "and them…" He paused anger clouded his countenance, his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened, "They will be held accountable." He left with Padfoot at his side.

Cauthrien was left alone to reflect on his vow. She knew others may have left him, but she would not. She'd be at his side until the end… _Maker willing._

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><p><strong>AN: Some liberties being taken with DA lore in regards of Wardens recruited during a Blight. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to believe that there are repercussions of undertaking the Joining once an Archdemon has been awakened. And once again this is an AU novelization so expect some liberties.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**-Spectre4hire**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to 'Guest,' Mike3207, dominicgrim, DarkquillMaster, Janizary, 'Suna Chunin,' hub. 1, and BlackBox Inc for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. **

**As this story closes in on 100 reviews all I can to do is repeat my thanks and appreciation to everyone who takes the time to review this story. Knowing that people are reading and enjoying this story serves as an incredible source of motivation for an author to continue, so thank you. **

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><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Location: Lake Calenhad, Ferelden**

"There it is," Bethany said, looking to see the looming tower of Magi, jutting out from an island surrounded by the calming waters of Lake Calenhad.

It was a daunting trek, but they had finally arrived to their destination. Night had fallen, and the stars were illuminating the dark sky providing some light for the weary travelers as they made their way towards the small hamlet nestled on the shores of Lake Calenhad.

This was where the Fereldan's Circle of Magi was located, and in another life this would have been her home. If the Templars had ever caught her, they would've brought her to this very tower. Her magic and her father's magic had made them apostates. They were constantly on the run from the Templars, uprooting their family on several occasions to remain a step ahead of the Templar hunters or avoid unwanted attention from suspicious townspeople.

There were times when Bethany wondered if being brought to the Circle would have been an easier choice for her family. They had moved often when she was a child to shield her from the Templars, and she couldn't help but feel guilty for having to continually uproot her family time and time again. In these dark reflections, Bethany Hawke felt like she was a burden to them. Especially in regards to her siblings, Carver and Garrett, neither of them were mages, and yet they had to make great sacrifices in order to keep her safe, in part they had to sacrifice their own freedom to help protect hers.

She knew neither brother would ever admit to these feelings, but deep down she knew that the reason Carver joined the Fereldan army was to establish himself outside of her and Garrett's shadow. He was risking his life in hopes of finally getting some sort of recognition. He didn't want to be known as the brother of an apostate. He was trying to forge his own identity in the dangerous fires of combat. He wanted to prove his warrior prowess, even if it meant testing his skill against the monsters known as darkspawn.

And there was nothing Bethany Hawke could do to save or protect her twin. Nothing she could say to deter his course of action. She remembered the night he informed them his desire to enlist and his acceptance into His Majesty's army. Remembering her own crying protests as well as her mother's, but neither of them could change his mind. He was stubbornly determined to make his mark on the world, and deep down Bethany understood her role in her brother's search for an identity…

"The view from the top must be spectacular."

Leliana's observation silenced Bethany's own inner reflections on her life and the Circle of Magi. Turning around to see the others had gathered around her, but each one's attention was on the Tower, and not on the apostate.

Alistair was the first to turn away, "Just so you know," addressing their leader Marcus, he then gestured to the tower. "Mages don't like me very much, you know with me being templar trained and whatnot."

"And here I thought Morrigan was the only one who was immune to your charm."

Bethany suppressed a smile at Marcus' joke knowing that his observation wasn't far off. She looked over to see he was off to the side, away from them with the only nearby companion being his trusted mabari-Padfoot. His expression remained stoic even in his jest. His eyes unreadable, his stance disciplined. She had remembered her brothers telling her that they had served with Marcus in Southron Hills, saying that he was nobility but very friendly with soldiers and servants alike, a contrast to most nobility who saw all others not of noble birth beneath them.

Their description of Marcus was a stark contrast to what Bethany was seeing now. He was now mostly aloof and stoic causing her to wonder what had happened to him in the time from Southron Hills to the present day. She suspected that a pivotal role in his change had to do with the Grey Wardens, since he hadn't been one when he was serving with her brothers. Before her musings on their leader could go any further, they were halted by the appearance of her brother who came to stand beside her.

"You know from here it sorta looks like a…"

"Garrett!" interrupted a scandalized Bethany.

"What?" Asked an innocent Hawke, "I was going to say a needle," his grin widened when he turned to her. "What do you think it looks like?"

"Never mind that," stammered a flustered Bethany, feeling a creeping blush along her neck and cheeks, accompanied by a sudden warmth that seemed to be radiating off her face at her embarrassing flub.

"You know this was built long before Fereldan's Circle of Magi occupied these shores."

Thankful for the sudden distraction, Bethany turned to the voice that had brought the attention of the group away from herself and her embarrassing blunder. Of course the voice had belonged to Marcus. In their limited interactions she discovered his devotion to history, and his other scholarly pursuits, adding to her wondering what had caused him to become a Grey Warden, when it seemed clear that battle was not his strong point.

"Really?" she found herself asking, surprised by her own curiosity. She wasn't the only one to pick up on the oddity of her curiosity about the history of this tower. She could feel her brother's own attention shifting to her, before his eyes went to Marcus, who thankfully seemed oblivious to her brother's stare, as his attention remained transfixed on the Circle Tower.

"That's right," Marcus nodded, sounding pleased at the chance to discuss history with someone. "It was built long ago by the Avvar with help from the Dwarves. At the time it was considered an impenetrable fortress, that all changed however with the arrival of the Imperium."

"What happened to them?" She asked.

"The Avvar eventually lost to the Imperium in a brutal campaign," Marcus explained, as the group arrived within range of the candle lights of the hamlet. "They had to abandon this fortress and in the time that has passed it was rumored to be haunted. Even when the Circle of Magi moved into it during the Towers Age."

Bethany noticed the attention of their companions had shifted back towards the tower, as if digesting this new information while at the same time expecting to see spirits appearing within view to enforce the visage of the tower once being haunted.

Her brother was the first to turn away, not looking or sounding particularly impressed at the brief history lesson. "Well, that all sounds rather boring."

"Boring?" repeated a confused Marcus. "I think it's fascinating."

"Me too," Bethany admitted suddenly. Her words were rewarded with a rare smile from Marcus, and seeing him smile, was like seeing the troubles he was experiencing and bottling up being momentarily lifted from his shoulders. It seemed as if she was looking at the friendlier, amiable nobleman that both Carver and Garrett had praised during their stint in Southron Hills together.

Garrett cleared his throat. She turned to her brother to see him giving her a pointed look. She knew her brother well enough to understand at once what he was silently conveying. She quickly turned away from her brother's judgmental eyes, while trying to contain her own embarrassment at the situation of having her brother insinuate she was harboring feelings towards Marcus.

It was ridiculous. She wanted to quickly crush her brother's false insinuations. She had experienced 'crushes' before, most of them being more recently in Lothering; where she had come across several nice, handsome, and charming boys around her age, most of them showing an interest in pursuing a relationship with her. She had to put them down gently. It was a combination of little interest on her part, and her need to hide her magic. And those who didn't accept her gentle rejection were usually visited by her protective brothers who made it clear that she was not interested in their advances.

Sneaking a glance at Marcus, taking in his looks, she couldn't deny that he was rather handsome. He was lean and stalwart. His hair was dark, the same color of his beard. Yet, his most enticing trait to her was his sharp, blue eyes. Marcus wasn't one of the boys in Lothering eager to try to prove their worth to her. He was someone who had already proven his worth. He didn't seek attention from others, but like her, tried to go unnoticed, remain out of view and out of mind. His personality wasn't loud and demanding in trying to get attention, but calm, and collective, signaling his mindset wasn't on trying to prove himself to others, or seeking acceptance from others. It was these traits that the shy, and reserved Bethany Hawke found herself drawn to…

Her reflections on Marcus were thankfully interrupted by Leliana, who Bethany had always known as a Lay Sister during their time in Lothering and loved listening to her stories back in the town's Chantry. She was still trying to get over the shock of not just seeing the sister dressed in studded leather armor and sporting a bow, but her deadly skill in combat, hinting at a past life, before she ever reached the Lothering Chantry.

"I wonder how deep the water is?" Leliana mused, approaching the shoreline. "Are we allowed to swim in it?" She turned to them as if expecting one of them to answer.

Unsure how to respond Bethany remained silent, keeping her opinion that it seemed too chilly and late for a swim to herself.

"I don't see why not," Hawke replied moving closer towards the former lay sister. "We could go for a quick dip."

_Was he actually flirting with her?_ Bethany wondered.

"Oh?" Leliana giggled, "Right now?"

Hawke was already trying to remove his armor; "Why not?"

Bethany resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his antics, as well as resisting the urge at trying to pay her brother back for his previous hinting at her infatuation with Marcus; when it seemed clear he was harboring his own interest in the former Lothering lay sister.

"I think I'm going to find us some rooms," Marcus spoke up, seemingly trying to reel in the focus of the group to their mission at hand.

"Of course," Leliana quickly agreed, "how silly of me." She made her way away from the shoreline and back towards the others who were loitering outside the entrance of _the Spoiled Princess Inn_. She was oblivious to the disappointed look that Bethany saw Garret give in the lay sister's direction, before he turned to Marcus, where his look shifted from disappointment to annoyance.

Bethany fell in line behind Leliana and Alistair. Even though the latter had been a templar-in-training, he was polite enough around her, with an easy smile, and a certain humor that she found infectious. Yet, her attempts to engage him in conversation outside of the group usually led him to stammering and blushing, before picking a poor excuse to use to depart her company or try to bring other members of their party in the conversation to save himself from having to talk to her by himself.

Coming into the Inn, she came to the conclusion that reflecting on certain companions wouldn't lead to anything good at this particular time. She tried to put them off so that she could focus on the matter at-hand. This only stirred new feelings within, including apprehension at the realization that in a few hours she would be venturing into the headquarters of Fereldan's Circle of Magi.

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><p>Hawke had to admit he liked this new side of Leliana.<p>

He had always thought the Lothering lay sister was easy on the eyes even when she was forced to wear those loose, confining sister robes which left him having to imagine what figure accompanied her cute face. Now, that she had ditched the Chantry robes for studded leathers allowing him to appreciate her taut and toned body.

And now here he was drinking with her in an Inn on the shores of Lake Calenhad. It was a surreal moment for Hawke to marvel at as he watched with equal parts amusement and amazement the former lay sister finish up her ale. She placed the tankard down with a small, confident smile, her green eyes alight, with no sign of succumbing to a drunken haze anytime soon. She was holding her own against him in their little drinking game while Bethany and Alistair were watching on at their small table.

"Ready for another round?" Hawke challenged the lay sister as a dwarf serving girl picked up their tankards.

"Of course," her smile was both bright and infectious. "I could do this all day."

The dwarf serving girl returned with two more tankards both filled to the brim with the best ale the Inn could offer. Their tab had been generously picked up by Marcus, who was absent from the festivities and unable to witness how his coin was being spent. Not that Hawke minded his absence, in fact he preferred it. He was still annoyed at him for ruining his chance for enjoying a late night swim with Leliana.

Hawke picked up his tankard, looking over the top. His brown eyes meeting her green eyes, as she offered him a wink. She raised her tankard in salute, before putting it to her lips; she then tilted her head back and drank.

In that moment, Hawke simply watched the beautiful woman in front of him impressively finish off her fourth round of ale. She smacked her lips together when she removed the tankard before turning it upside down to signal that she drank every drop before placing it back on the table. She arched her brows to his still full tankard, looking at him expectantly. The challenge was clear. It was his turn.

Undeterred by watching her drink her ale effortlessly, he lifted his tankard in salute to her before raising the tankard to his lips. Breathing in the sweet aroma of the liquid, he drank down its contents greedily, and when he finished the last drop he looked over the top of the tankard triumphantly as he placed it on the table, with a casual shrug and a carefree smile offered to the Lay Sister to signal that he too was far from done.

However, before more rounds could be ordered, and the game continued, they were interrupted. "I like to think that you all have something better to do than to drink yourselves into stupor before we set out for the Tower at first light."

Four heads turned simultaneously to the sight of their Grey Warden leader-Marcus. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression impassive while his blue eyes swept over them with disapproval. At his side was his mabari war hound, Padfoot.

Suddenly, Hawke's three companions were acting more akin to children being caught by their parents, then the reasonable and responsible adults that Hawke believed himself to be. The first to crack under Marcus' inquisitive stare was his fellow Grey Warden-Alistair.

"I was actually just heading to bed," he admitted, providing a demonstration of his sleepiness with what Hawke believed to be a very forced yawn. The Grey Warden not wanting to dally quickly excused himself from the table and headed upstairs to where they had booked their rooms.

"We were just finishing up," Leliana was next, the lay sister's eyes no longer shimmering with mischief and amusement, but holding a certain hue of seriousness. It was an impressive and sudden switch that displayed she was nowhere near being susceptible to the effects of the many rounds of ale they had.

Appeased, Marcus offered them a nod before leaving their table, for a second, Hawke was thinking, and hoping that he was heading upstairs leaving them in peace, and giving him the opportunity to salvage their evening. To Hawke's surprise and growing annoyance Marcus didn't go upstairs, instead he simply moved to an empty table at the far side of the room. Sitting at a small table by the fireplace, his mabari, settling in a spot at his master's feet.

Not wanting to waste his time on their supposedly appointed leader, Hawke turned his attention to the two remaining companions at his table, his sister Bethany and Leliana. He noticed the good mood that they had been sharing before Marcus' unwanted intervention had all but evaporated. Pressing on, Hawke turned his attention to the lay sister, "what do you say?"

She pressed her lips together, her eyes drifting to the spot where Marcus was now sitting before turning back to Hawke, and she shook her head, sending him an apologetic look. "I think it's best if we call it a night."

"I see," Hawke said, biting down the annoyance that threatened to seep into his tone.

"I think Marcus is right," Bethany added, coming to the defense. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

"We will continue this another night, yes?" Leliana asked, after getting up from the table, her eyes hopeful, with a small smile signaling that she too had enjoyed herself in his company and was slightly disappointed that their night had to end so abruptly.

Even Hawke in his growing sour mood couldn't help but return her infectious smile, "of course," he said, bowing his head, taking the small victory of having their game extended, and the belief that she had enjoyed his company as much as he hers.

She smiled one more time, before she and Bethany said their goodnights and went upstairs to their rooms leaving Hawke alone to reflect on the sudden change in his evening. Only a few minutes ago he was enjoying himself with a beautiful woman, drinking and joking, not remembering the last time he had had that much fun, only to have his wonderful evening ruined in a handful of seconds from their disapproving leader.

Grumbling, Hawke turned in his seat to see the dwarf serving girl handing Marcus his own tankard. _Hypocrite, _was the first thought that came to the rogue's mind. Pushing himself out of his seat, he made his way over to his table, realizing that his actions were being spurred on by his annoyance and in no small part the amount of ale he had consumed in the last hour.

"You shouldn't have stopped us." Hawke announced his presence bluntly, standing at the other side of Marcus' table.

"Pardon?" Marcus looked up from some vellum he had been reading, looking genuinely confused and surprised by Hawke's sudden arrival.

"From drinking," Hawke explained. "I mean we're adults, and after our journey from Soldier's Peak, we're entitled to have some fun."

"Fun?"

"Yeah, ever heard of it?" Hawke replied sarcastically.

"You call drinking yourself into a stupor, fun?"

Hawke shrugged, "It's a change of pace from fighting darkspawn."

"I see, but you've had plenty to drink already," Marcus said slowly, putting down the vellum he had been reading to give Hawke his undivided attention. "You forgot to include the drinks you had before and during our dinner. Not to mention the four rounds of ale you did consume before I interrupted your…_. Fun."_

"That's not the point," Hawke argued, but his argument and some of his own annoyance quickly deflated at Marcus' next words.

"You're right." Marcus agreed, bringing his hand around his tankard. "The point is you're use to leading, not following." He paused to allow himself a drink from his tankard before continuing. "And it irks you that you not only have to follow my orders, but those around you are so willingly trusting my judgment and listening to my instructions, especially when it clashes with your viewpoint."

"I don't have to follow your orders," Hawke pointed out, not listening to the small voice that was admitting that Marcus was making some successful points.

"That's right," he nodded, "You don't have to, but you chose to."

"To save Ferelden," Hawke finished.

"And do you think my leadership impairs your ability to save Ferelden from this Blight?"

"I didn't say that," Hawke said, a bit too defensively, uncomfortable where Marcus was directing this conversation.

"I know, because you don't believe it."

Hawke bristled at not just the words, but the confidence that Marcus used in his tone. "And how do you know what I believe?"

Marcus seemed unperturbed by Hawke's defensive tone, "I don't," he agreed. "But I do know that what's bothering you has nothing to do with my leadership."

That hit a spot which Hawke wished he hadn't gone. "What makes you say that?"

"It's a gut feeling," Marcus admitted, before giving him a challenging look, "so am I wrong?"

Hawke sighed, his annoyance for the man sitting in front of him only increasing, but for different reasons then the ones that had initially brought him to his table in the first place.

Marcus took Hawke's uncomfortable silence in stride, seemingly aware that he was right in his initial assessment. He gestured to the empty chair, "Please join me and allow me to pay for your last drink of the night."

Never one to turn down a free drink Hawke accepted the offer, pulling out the chair across from Marcus. Their conversation was put on hold by the return of the feisty serving dwarf girl named Felsi, Marcus asked for another drink for himself, and one for Hawke. "So, why are you allowed to drink and not us?"

"Who said I was drinking?" Marcus replied. He then slid his empty tankard across the table; Hawke deftly caught it, examining the cup to discern no fresh scent of ale or wine lingering in the cup. Looking closer, he recognized a few droplets of liquid at the bottom, he turned it over to see the droplets splash onto the table. He realized that Marcus hadn't been drinking ale or wine, but water.

"That was unexpected," Hawke admitted dryly as he slid it back to Marcus, who stopped it before it went over the edge of the table. Felsi returned with their drinks, ale for Hawke and water for his sober leader, Marcus.

"You have rare skills, Hawke," Marcus pointed out, before taking a generous sip from his cup.

"Oh?" Hawke furrowed his brows together, confused at his sudden topic shift.

"Yes," he was nodding, "On our trip here when we came across those bandits, and…and I was sure that you called for assistance." He put down his drink, his eyes inspecting Hawke. "And I'm quite sure your call was answered in the form of two wolves."

"Oh that," Hawke said with a smile, relieved to know what Marcus had been trying to get at when he had switched to the topic of Hawke's fighting skills. "I'm a Ranger."

"A-what?"

"A scout," Hawke tried to explain, with a few hand gestures. "I prefer the wildness and open terrain as my battlefield, and I excel in traps and striving to be the master of my surroundings so that I can exploit it when I come across trouble."

"And that includes calling wildlife to assist you?" Marcus asked incredulously.

"On occasion," Hawke answered, running his hand across the back of his head. "I can call the occasional wolf, or bear for assistance; they may not always answer, however."

"Amazing," Marcus said, looking and sounding rather impressed with Hawke's unique set of skills. "I've never come across a ranger before."

"No, I doubt you'd come across a lot of rangers within the noble crowd," Hawke pointed out dryly.

"No," Marcus agreed stiffly, "You would not."

Hawke realized it may have been a mistake to make a reference to Marcus' noble background judging by the quick change in his demeanor. His reaction further fueling Hawke's own curiosity at how Marcus had become a Grey Warden, remembering when they were fighting in the earlier battles before Ostagar around Southron Hills that Marcus was a nobleman who seemed to have no real interest in either fighting or darkspawn. And yet in only a matter of weeks Marcus was now a Grey Warden…

"I know why you're angry with me."

"Huh?" Hawke looked up from his musings to see Marcus' face had gone pensive. "I never said I was angry with you."

He replied with a dry chuckle. "You didn't need to."

"Alright," Hawke said, not bothering to hide his growing exasperation at the man in front of him. "Do tell?"

"Family."

That simple one word answer did in fact define the reason for the annoyance that Hawke had been feeling for the man in front of him. Marcus breaking up their drinking game had only been an excuse for him to confront him and an avenue to voice his displeasure and frustration at their leader. Hawke would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't angry at how Marcus had manipulated him and his family into serving him to stop the Blight. He was furious.

He recognized how Marcus had preyed on Carver's thirst for glory to plant the initial seed. Marcus waxed on about the pride for country and people to recruit the young Fereldan who was desperately seeking ways to try to leave his mark on the world. He had all but hooked his younger brother after his first offer. Yet, that hadn't been enough for him. He went on to offer and promise the one thing his sister wanted protection of her freedom. Marcus had vowed to defend her from the templars if she would serve the Grey Wardens. For the first time Bethany Hawke was allowed to not only use her powers in the open, but was not forced to hide anymore.

With a few pretty words and the passing of a few minutes Hawke had lost his brother and his sister to Marcus. Unwilling to allow his family to be split, Hawke was forced to comply with Marcus in offering his service as well, not only was he now fighting for Marcus, but having to follow his orders as well. It left a bitter taste in the rogue's mouth while also fueling his own growing contempt for the man who he now sat across.

"You had no right," Hawke growled, pounding his fists into the table with such force that it shook beneath his clenched hands.

Padfoot's response was immediate. The fierce looking mabari war-hound rose from his position, his dark eyes glaring at Marcus, as the hound bared its teeth and let loose its own threatening growl giving Hawke a clear warning to watch himself. At that moment Hawke didn't care about Padfoot. Or the threat the hound would pose. All he cared about was making sure Marcus knew perfectly well why he was so angry with him.

"Is it wrong to offer your brother a chance to prove himself?" Marcus rebutted calmly. "Or offering your sister the opportunity of true freedom?"

"Enough," Hawke all but growled, pointing at Marcus before continuing. "You treat my family like they are expendable pieces to use and sacrifice as long as it helps you. You preyed and used our love and loyalty towards one another to recruit us into your fight.

"I promise to compensate your family."

"How?" Hawke challenged, "When you cannot even promise our survival."

Marcus lofted a sigh, reaching out to put a calming hand on his hound's head. "No, I cannot promise their survival." His attention shifting away from Hawke and towards his mabari-Padfoot, "You are implying that I care very little for family, but in reality that could not be further from the truth."

The two men finished their drinks in an awkward silence. Marcus kept his attention on his hound, Padfoot, whose black eyes were transfixed on Hawke as if still evaluating the threat level the rogue posed on his master. The ale did nothing to sate the still fuming anger, Hawke felt bubbling within at how Marcus was trying to justify his actions in recruiting Hawke and his family.

When he was done Hawke put the tankard with a bit of force back down onto the table. Still, Marcus didn't take his eyes off of his mabari. Knowing that Marcus was probably done speaking to him for the night, Hawke gathered his things and went up the stairs and to his room. His feelings towards their leader were anything but clear. He hoped the silence and solitude would help allow him to evaluate not just Marcus, but his own place moving forward.

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><p><em>What secrets are you hiding?<em>

Marcus mused as he stood out on the docks, looking out past the calming waters of Lake Calenhad towards the Tower of Magi, it looked peaceful, if not a little eerie. Yet, according to the local gossip trouble was brewing within the tower. The threat was so dangerous that the Templar Order had forbidden any civilian passages across the lake, going as far as confiscating the ferryman's boat to ensure no one got across.

The hour was late, and in a few short hours when the sun rose Marcus would have to find a way to get passage across the lake and to the tower. He didn't care for the drama that was happening in the tower, all he cared about was for the Templars and Circle of Magi to honor the treaties they signed with the Grey Wardens compelling them to help fight this Blight under Marcus' banner.

At the moment his banner was far from impressive with only a fighting force of less than a dozen men and women. All be it a diverse cast that included apostates, soldiers, a qunari, and a former lay sister. And even with a small number of companions under his leadership, Marcus was already experiencing problems. Remembering his conversation with the rogue, and former Fereldan scout-Hawke a few short hours ago, Marcus could practically see the hostility radiating off of the rogue.

It was clear, Hawke was no fan of Marcus and with his anger and annoyance left unchecked, it could cause problems for Marcus down the line. It was something that he couldn't ignore, but he also knew that if approached poorly, then any chance of reconciliation between the pair would probably be lost.

Sitting on the dock of the lake, his legs dangled inches over the lake's surface, Marcus Cousland tried to plan his next move. The news from the tower was unexpected, and he hoped it wasn't anything too serious, but when magic was involved the chance of it being a minor incident was very slim.

He had only been a Grey Warden for a few weeks, and already had endured the horrors of Ostagar, purged an ancient Warden fortress of demons, while aligning with a Blood Mage in the process. And now as he looked out at the Tower of Magi he could only wonder what he would have to do to secure his alliance with the Circle and the Templar Order.

"Oh."

The soft voice barely carried over the lapping waves, but it was enough for Marcus to look up from his musings to see Bethany Hawke standing on the dock, wringing her hands in front of her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

He waved off her apology, "It's alright." He then gestured to the spot next to him for her to sit down if she so chose. "It's probably better my thoughts were interrupted."

She gave him a confused look as if trying to get him to clarify his second remark, but she seemed to realize that he wasn't going to speak more on the matter, and elected to approach him instead. "Couldn't sleep?"

Marcus only nodded, even though the two seemed to have shared the same reason for being out here. He doubted her inability to sleep had anything to do with why he couldn't. The curse of the Grey Wardens was far reaching. Now when Marcus Cousland tried to sleep, he unconsciously tapped into the hive mind of the darkspawn, feeling their thoughts, their pollution, their taint, as well as their leader-the Archdemon. And for those rare moments when he did close his eyes and was not assaulted by visions of darkspawn and the Archdemon, his mind brought him back to the horrors of the massacre at Cousland Castle, forcing him to relive the terrors that Howe had unleashed upon his family.

The soft creak of the wood from the dock alerted him that Bethany had taken the seat beside him. "My brothers spoke very highly of you."

"Is that so?" Marcus asked, reluctant to believe her especially after his latest discussion with Garrett.

"Yes, it is," she affirmed, "They had nothing but good things to say about you after Southron Hills."

"That's…that's very kind of them," Marcus said, surprised by the amount of comfort he took in realizing the respect and appreciation the two Hawke brothers had given him once they departed. "Your brothers are good men."

Bethany smiled. "Yes, I'm very happy to have them."

"I'm sure they feel the same way about you," Marcus replied, hoping for her to take comfort in his words, but instead her smile faltered and her eyes drifted towards the Circle Tower in the distance.

"That's kind of you to say," She said, "But, I'm not sure I believe you."

Confused, by her bleak outlook, he turned towards her in hopes of encouraging her to clarify her remarks, but her attention was transfixed on the tower. "How can you say that?"

She turned to him, rolling her shoulders slightly, "All my life, they've had to sacrifice for me. They've had to abandon many homes and friends in an effort to keep the templars from finding me."

"But you made sacrifices too," Marcus observed, "You had to abandon those same homes, and your own friends."

She shook her head, tresses of her brown hair falling around her face, "It's not the same thing."

"Perhaps," He agreed, seeing her turn to him he added, "But I do think you are allowing your guilt to fester, while undervaluing your brothers' love for you."

"I…I suppose you're right," she admitted. "All my life I was told about this place, of the templars, of the Circle, and of the mages who try to live outside their authority as apostates."

"Was it difficult?" Marcus found himself asking. He was by no means a supporter of mage freedom or rights, believing that there did need to be someone to keep them accountable. With that much power the mages could summon, it didn't seem responsible to Marcus to just allow mages complete autonomy.

"Very," she sighed. "More so on my family. They were the ones who always had to move on my account."

"Did you ever think about just surrendering?"

"Many times," she answered, "Often thinking would it be so bad to serve the Chantry as Andraste demands we do."

"But you never did," Marcus pointed out.

"No, I didn't," she agreed, "I guess in the end I was afraid to leave my family. I was afraid I wouldn't see them again."

"I can understand that," Marcus admitted, surprising himself by his own feelings of sympathy towards the apostate.

"It's the reason why I can't sleep," she confessed.

"What is?"

She bit her lip, "I'm afraid that when we go to the tower the templars will try to keep me there."

"They can't," Marcus argued, the intensity of his argument increasing at the recognition of the obvious fear underscored in her voice.

She gave him a sidelong look, "Yes, they can." She replied, matter-of-factly.

"You're under my protection," he pointed out.

"The templars aren't always known for their diplomacy," she replied. "They're use to getting their way, and if they see me as a threat…"

"It won't matter," he cut her off. "Your brother would never allow them to take you."

She shrugged, "that won't stop them."

The combination of her stubbornness and her bleak outlook of the Circle stirred something within him. Displeased at her almost willingness to be taken by the templars and to be a prisoner of her own fear was too much for Marcus to take. He shifted his position so that he could face her.

"I won't allow them to take you, Bethany."

It seemed his declaration pacified her since she gave him a soft smile, before abruptly turning away from him. Marcus, who was unsure how to decipher Bethany's reaction, looked inwards to try to surmise his unexpected willingness to defend her from the templars. He was a man who was wary of all mages, and more so suspicious of apostates, had now openly vowed to support and defend one if the templars tried to bring her under their authority.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, unsure if his shift in behavior should be classified as wise or foolish and that was his sudden switch stemmed towards a new outlook on his part or his own attraction towards the young, pretty apostate sitting beside him.

"It's so peaceful here," Bethany admitted.

Looking out at the water he had to agree with her assessment of their surroundings. He remembered the many texts he had read growing up that revolved around these shores, but this was the first time that he could remember just sitting here and appreciating the natural beauty that Lake Calenhad offered.

"You know the Tevinters believed that these waters were blessed by Razikale," Marcus said,

"Razi-who?" she asked, furrowing her brows at the unusual name.

Marcus smiled, "He was the god of mysteries, and it was believed that those who drank from these waters were granted special insights." He gestured to the looming tower in the distance, "that is why they built a tower here. They hoped the powers of the waters would aid their magical research."

"How do you know all of this?"

"It was just part of my education growing up," trying to downplay his noble background, he added, "I've always been more interested in history than any other subject I was taught. And I definitely prefer reading about a battle than actually having to be in one."

"But you're a Grey Warden," she observed, showing her confusion in what she believed to be a contradiction in his logic.

"Yeah, I am," he said, in a bitter resigned tone that he had perfected in these last few weeks, "but before that I had nearly gone to University in Orlais."

It had been a difficult choice for him to make- University in Orlais or an apprenticeship under the Hero of River Dane. The latter option had been materialized at the midnight hour in no small part to the influences of two of his closest friends-Cauthrien and Nathaniel. In the end, he elected to test his mettle under Loghain and not for a moment regretted his choice. He had thought that after his apprenticeship that he could then pursue University in Orlais, but that had changed when his betrothal options had heated up, and that his next adventure wouldn't be university, but marriage. And then Howe happened…

"Then why are you one?"

"A-what?" Marcus asked, lost in his nostalgia, he hadn't really been paying attention, and at the moment wasn't sure what she was referring to.

"A Grey Warden."

"Oh, that," he said, bitterly, "I wasn't given a choice. I was conscripted."

"That must have been hard on your family," she said, sympathetically.

_Family,_ he repeated to himself. Conjuring up the images of his family the night he was conscripted into the Order, his nephew's broken body, the horror etched on Orana's lifeless face, his father's hands stained with his own blood as he begged Duncan to take Marcus and his wife-Eleanor.

A gesture which Marcus thought was empty. They had already reached the secret exit, and Marcus knew the surroundings of the castle better than the Warden, he could've easily escaped, fled south and rally the loyal Banns of the Couslands and marched back to Highever to retake it from Howe. In the end, Marcus had been conscripted and forced to abandon his dying father and his mother who refused to leave his side.

Realizing that he had been silent for some time, lost in his thoughts, he looked up to see Bethany's soft brown eyes were on him. He swallowed his scathing and bitter reply, electing to remain silent on the truth and not divulge the circumstances that had caused him to be a Grey Warden. He simply nodded, "Yeah, it was hard."

"I'm sure you'll make them proud."

Again, he didn't have the heart to correct her. Instead, he took her attempt to console him in stride, knowing her obliviousness to the facts wasn't her fault, but his. He smiled, showing her his appreciation for the kind words and the thoughtful sentiment behind them.

The two settled in a comfortable silence, both of them looking out towards the tower. And when the stars began to fade, and the dark sky began to glow signaling that night was ending, and morning was near. The two left their comfortable spots on the dock and headed back towards the Inn.

The sun was rising, and their day was just beginning


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I want to extend my thanks and appreciation to Janizary, Wizco, Mike3207, DarkquillMaster, Badger2430, and 'Guest' for reading and reviewing. It is appreciated. **

**This is AU so liberties will be taken.**

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><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter Eighteen **

"Wake up!"

Marcus Cousland stirred under his blankets, but made no attempt to open his eyes. He had had the oddest dream. It had been filled with fearsome monsters and fiery demons; creatures that looked to have crawled out of the deepest, darkest abyss.

"Uncle," his nephew persisted.

The presence of his nephew in his room was usually forbidden in the morning since often times Marcus would have company with him, but thankfully on this morning he was alone. He wasn't sure he could survive the scolding from both his mother and Oriana if Oren had snuck in and caught Marcus _entertaining_ a guest.

"Uncle, wake up!"

He had no intention of doing that. He rolled over onto his side turning away from his nephew, keeping his eyes firmly shut continuing to feign sleep. While trying to conjure up the images and voices that he had seen and heard in his dream, but all he could grasp were fragments and whispers.

"I know you're awake, Uncle."

Marcus responded to his nephew's confidence with an exaggerated snore eliciting a giggle from Oren. Then there was silence and for a second Marcus thought his nephew had given up and left, but that was not the case. Even with his eyes closed he could sense his nephew creeping up towards him, knowing he was close when Oren's breath tickled his face.

"Today's your big day," he whispered in his ear.

_Yes, yes it was, _Marcus silently agreed, but that did not mean he wanted to get up to face it. The reminder caused his stomach to rumble, signaling that it too wanted to stay in bed. The day he had been dreading since his parents agreed to this betrothal. This was his last morning as a single man. That alone was more than enough reason for him to stay in bed continuing his charade of his embellished slumber. He wasn't quite ready to get up and confront what was waiting for him-marriage.

He heard the soft footsteps of his nephew padding out of the room leaving Marcus once more in solitude. Something he welcomed, with what was ahead of him on this day, and the dream he woke from, he had a lot to think about. He turned back over onto his back. His eyes remained closed and in the silence he tried once more to retrieve the visions and voices from his odd dream.

The images came to him like shadows and smoke giving him only murky glimpses, and when he tried to concentrate on an image or voice he found it slipping from his grasp and sneaking back into the darkest corners of his mind.

From his dream there were only a few certain things he could be sure of.

There was a tower.

He didn't know where the tower was, but inside of it hosted many sorts of monsters and other foul creatures. And he had been fighting them, but he wasn't alone. There were others faces that mostly remained concealed in shadows, but when he caught sight of them, a pang of familiarity struck him, but he had no luck in putting names to them.

Once more the sound of approaching footsteps caused his musings on his dream to be forgotten.

"Marcus, it is past time you got yourself up." He could hear the disapproval in his mother's voice. "Our esteemed guests will be coming in a matter of hours."

"Wake me when they get to Highever," he murmured. He didn't know why he needed to get out of bed any sooner all he had to do was take a quick bath and put on some fresh clothes to make himself presentable. All in all he didn't think he needed more than thirty minutes, and he was confident he could be done with it even sooner than that if he hurried without any fuss.

"You are expected to ride out and greet them," his mother pointed out.

"Okay, then wake me an hour before their scheduled to arrive."

"I am waking you now," Eleanor Cousland's voice left no room for argument.

He sighed, repositioning himself under his covers. "I barely slept."

"And whose fault is that?"

He wasn't about to admit it was his.

"This is your last chance."

Marcus frowned unsure what his mother was getting at, and the addition of Oren's giggles did nothing to comfort him. He was about to open his mouth to ask what was going on, but he suddenly felt something hit him in the chest, and then he heard a happy bark.

Realization seized him, "Wait, Pad-" his command was cut off as his bulky mabari war hound leapt onto the bed landing squarely on his chest, causing him to wince and grunt, Oren's giggles only got louder.

His eyes instinctively fluttered open, raising his head to see Padfoot gobbling up the piece of bacon that his nephew had tossed onto his bed. His mabari was licking up the crumbs from the blanket, but when he raised his eyes to meet Marcus', his stubby tail wagged and he sniffed his face before licking Marcus' cheeks.

Smiling in spite the discomfort, he pushed his mabari's large head away from his face much to Padfoot's disappointment, "Alright, off boy."

Letting out a disappointed whine, Padfoot nonetheless obeyed jumping off of the bed, and padding over towards the still giggling Oren who welcomed the mabari with a hug.

Marcus propped himself up by his elbows to see the culprits behind that little trick to wake him up. Oren whose small hands were now firmly wrapped around Padfoot's meaty neck was grinning ear to ear, laughing when Padfoot would lick his cheeks. His mother hid her guilt much better than his nephew, her face solemn, except for the twinkle in her blue eyes or the twitch in her lips.

"Good, you're up."

Marcus wiped the slobber from Padfoot with the back of his sleeve, as he gave his mother a feigned frown which she ignored.

"The servants have drawn you a bath, darling," she told him. "We wouldn't want you to smell like a mabari when your bride-to-be arrives."

Padfoot whined at the slight.

Eleanor's face softened turning to the mabari, she scrubbed the hound's head. "It suits you, boy."

Padfoot replied with a happy bark.

"Very well," Marcus said, resigned to the fact that he could no longer hide in bed. He was to be married soon, and there was no changing the outcome. He threw back his blankets and pushed himself out of his bed. Stretching his arms over his head as he did while letting out a bellowing yawn.

His mother didn't seem too pleased with his etiquette and said as much. "Best be wise to practice your manners and brush up on your courtesies, darling. We wouldn't want you to offend your new bride's family."

"For all we know yawning is a respectable custom where they come from," Marcus jokingly retorted, meeting his mother's stern gaze with a smile, taking a small victory when the corner of her mouth curved upwards before she rolled her eyes.

"Come Oren," she said, putting her hand on her grandson's back, "you have your own duties to attend to." She steered the young boy out of the room.

Oren groaned, "But I'm not getting married."

Marcus smiled, but didn't have long to dwell on the pending arrival of his bride and her family since elven servants soon appeared to whisk him away to the bath that awaited him.

Thankfully, the water was still warm for Marcus when he finally arrived. He had just enough time to slip into the water and become content with its perfect temperature before he was assaulted by the two elven servants tasked to clean him up. One went for his arms while the other worked on his back.

Marcus tried to protest, but the two olden elven women were not heeding him. No doubt, they had been given explicit instructions from the Cousland matriarch so he was forced to endure. He tried not to wince or hiss as they scrubbed, sometimes feeling as if they were trying to scrub off his skin. He closed his eyes trying to put himself as far away as he could from this uncomfortable situation he found himself in. His thoughts once more drifted back towards his earlier dream.

_He was fighting an odd looking monster that resembled a fiery blob; its body seemingly made of amorphous lava, and its eyes were two pinpricks of baleful light radiating from its core. It extended its arms towards him, but he raised his shield in time, the monster raked and clawed at the metal, leaving behind scorch marks from where its flaming fingers had touched the shield. _

_He wasn't alone. There were others with him. Their faces hidden, but he could see them fighting other creatures, one was like him with sword and shield, another was using twin daggers hacking and slashing his way through an array of enemies. _

_There were also women fighting with him. Three, to be precise, two of them wielding staffs, one young and comely, the other old and prudish; while the third one she too was young, but she was dressed in leathers using a bow and raining down arrows upon their remaining enemies. When the last one fell, they turned to him, before one by one they became consumed by shadows until the very room that they had been standing in was swallowed up in darkness. _

"_Resist, you must resist!"_

Marcus blinked. The voice was no louder than a whisper. He looked at the two elven servants who were preoccupied in their duty of scrubbing him down, "Pardon?"

They looked up, "my lord?"

He frowned, "Didn't you say something?"

The two servants exchanged a look full of concern and confusion before turning back to him. "We didn't say anything, your Grace."

_How could that be?_ He thought, he was sure he had heard something, a voice, but they claimed it wasn't them, and they were currently looking at him as if he had just sprouted a second head.

"Should we fetch the healer?"

"Do you have a fever, my lord?" The second asked.

"No, I'm fine," he lied, "I must have dozed off." He was silently relieved when they accepted his lie and further pleased when they announced that he was as good as cleaned. They left him with fresh clothes, and gave him his privacy, but not before telling him that his parents were expecting him down in the Hall when he was ready.

Marcus stood up from his tub, gooseflesh appearing on his skin as he left the warm waters of his bath. He began toweling himself off. Thankful for the privacy and the silence, he reflected on the words he had sworn he heard uttered.

"_Resist, you must resist!"_

"Resist what?" he mused out loud unsure of the warning, or the meaning behind it. He stepped out of the tub and towards the fresh clothes laid out for him. He closed his eyes trying to force the images back up so that he could study them further and try to decipher this confusing mess. The pictures remained elusive slipping between his fingers, and the more he concentrated the more they wiggled from his grasp.

He was already dressed when an image finally did come to him.

_Oren lay broken, a sword protruding from his stomach, his body soaking in his blood, his eyes wide in fright…_

Marcus choked back a sob before being able to banish the heart wrenching image away. His breathing coming in quick, heavy gasps. His hands trembled, and he felt uneasy on his feet to the point of reaching an unsteady hand to the wall to try to keep his balance. He tasted bile in his throat.

It felt as if he had just held his breath under water, and now that he had surfaced he was trying to make sense of everything around him. If that was the case it had been quite the powerful plunge.

"What madness is this," he rasped, his hand still holding firmly to the wall.

"_The truth,"_ whispered a soft, familiar voice.

"That's…that's impossible," Marcus dismissed, "Oren's not dead… He can't be!"

"He is," replied the voice. "They all are."

And before Marcus could seek clarity of the cryptic words more images flickered across his vision.

_His father was crawling like a wounded beast, a pained look etched on his face, one hand pressed firmly against his torso, the hand already soaked in blood. A trail of blood following his crawl, his eyes turned to Marcus._

"_We are leaving the best of us behind in you."_

_His mother standing tall and proud, dressed as the fabled Battle Maiden that the stories made her out to be in the Rebellion. Her expression hard, eyes burning like blue sapphires, but when she turned to meet his blue eyes they softened. Her calloused hands cupped his cheeks, before she kissed his forehead, warmth radiated from the spot._

"_You can get your vengeance, darling, but first you must live!"_

With those words it felt as if a fog had been lifted. Marcus was immediately flooded with images, seeing the memories of his fight in the Circle Tower, battling demons and possessed Templars and Blood Mages, Marcus finally saw the truth.

Marcus Cousland was in the Fade.

And with that realization the façade of Cousland Castle crumbled away to reveal the ethereal world of the Fade, the first world that the Maker created. It was here where the demons and spirits resided.

Appearing before him was the one responsible for keeping him here. It was a desire demon.

He should have been disgusted by her appearance, but it was not disgust that filled his heart, something else yearned within him as he took in the sight of the demon before him. A primal feeling bubbled and frothed within him as his eyes hungrily took in the demon's well chosen form.

Amethyst colored skin, curved horns crowned upon her head, wreathed in purple flames. His eyes then lowered favoring a long glance at her ample chest, before lowering to her lithe body, her appealing form scant of any clothes, except a few pieces of gold jewelry that were tactically placed.

She seemed to notice him staring. Her eyes brimming with raw passion, and her lilac lips curved upwards into an impish smirk bringing one of her hands up to her bosom gesturing to herself, as if she was on display. She then floated over towards him.

"Were you not fulfilled by the fantasy I set for you?" Her voice was an echo, hauntingly beautiful, with a rich, smooth timbre that was too enchanting to ignore.

The fog that had been lifted at his realization that he was in the Fade was slowly seeping back in due to the presence and power of the desire demon, who Marcus remembered was named Yavena.

This was her world. She was in charge. Her strength feasted on his lust and ambitions. If she wanted, she could leech herself onto him, sapping his strength and will to the point that his body would become a withered husk.

Marcus had to escape, but he couldn't be reckless. It would take all of his discipline and power to free himself from Yavena's control. With one small slip up on his part he would be banished once more into another nightmare like the one he just exited. He needed to pick his words very carefully.

"But it wasn't real."

She laughed, "You mortals and your reality." She then brought her hand up to his face, her long fingers gently touching his cheek.

He should've flinched. He should've jerked away from her touch, but he didn't. Even with all the truths he was aware of about this place and her, she was still very enchanting. Her presence radiated a strong allure that was near impossible for his body to resist.

Her long fingers began to trace along his jaw line. "Then tell me what you want." Her voice sent a shiver through him, "And I will give it to you."

Marcus said nothing. Soaking in her presence, he found a growing part of himself basking in the attention and the loving touch her fingers had as they caressed his cheeks. Her other hand remained on her breast giving herself a gentle caress. It took some effort, but he pushed down the growing desire he felt surfacing from within. He had to keep his wits if he wanted to escape this place.

She took his silence in stride. Her hand dropped from his cheek, drifting away from him; "Let me help you decide," she gestured to an empty spot beside her. "Is it your own lust you want sated?"

A figure materialized. It was Isabela, the Pirate Queen.

She looked as beautiful as Marcus had remembered; dusky colored skin, long raven hair, golden eyes that shimmered, a smile on her lips. She wore a white corset, her breasts threatening to spill out, her corset stopping at her hips, where the cloth then met bare skin as her thighs remained uncovered, with knee-high dark Antivan leather boots. She posed provocatively, providing him a great glimpse of her ample chest.

"What are you waiting for, sweet thing?" Isabela purred, sauntering over to him. Her calloused fingers coming to rest on his neck, standing on her tiptoes her lips met his in a brief, but searing kiss that had Marcus' body instinctively reacting. His hands snaked around her tiny waist, and when the kiss ended, she playfully nipped at his lower lip. It was a heady experience that left him dizzy and a bit lightheaded.

He cleared his throat. He tried to reel in his senses that seemed to have been enthralled by Yavena. Collecting his wits, he surmised that his lusts and ambitions strengthened the effects of Yavena and her own grip on him would only tighten if he allowed them to control him.

With that comprehension he watched as Isabela disappeared in front of him.

"Not lust?" Yavena asked, her lilac lips pouting at him. "Perhaps its power you crave; the power to right the wrongs done to you."

Again, just like with Isabela, a figure materialized in the empty spot, but this wasn't Isabela, to Marcus' dismay it was Anora Theirin, the Queen of Ferelden.

Her golden hair was coiffed, her sky blue eyes looking at him warmly. She was dressed in one of her regal gowns that accentuated the queen's natural curves. A crown sat on top her golden head, and in her hands she held a purple silk pillow, and on top of it rested the king's crown. She was holding it out towards him.

"Take it my dear husband, and together we can lead Ferelden into a Golden Age." Her voice was warm and sincere. A small smile played upon her lips, her sky blue eyes shimmering with affection.

He was taken aback by not just the gesture, but the power that it promises. He felt his arms slowly stir, his fingers twitch, yearning to hold the crown. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, trying to reassert control over his passions. It was terrifying to experience for someone as pragmatic as him to be so helpless and vulnerable while in the Fade. Where the emotions he tempers in the real world are now loose and accountable to nothing, but their own desires.

To stop himself he clenched his fists so tightly he can feel his nails digging deep into his flesh. The discomfort and pain squirm inside of him, helping to lift the fog that Yavena had once more cast over him with the sweet promises of power.

"Not that either," he chokes out between clenched teeth. He knows he needs to sound convincing, and cannot pique Yavena's suspicious side. Lest she send him back into another terribly realistic world where his family lived and he was happy and painfully oblivious to the true horrors of the world he now lived in.

She clicked her tongue, but nonetheless didn't seem too phased by his declines, she accepted them in stride. "I've seen your heart, creature." Her purple eyes surveyed him. "I can offer you anything it desires."

A new figure materialized. It was Cauthrien.

She was not in her armor, but standing before him in a beautiful dress. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, her storm cloud eyes shimmering at him with warmth, and her curves usually hidden beneath her armor were now flaunted in this dress. Her taut muscles and sun kissed skin from her many hard years of soldiering further highlighting her natural beauty that was too often covered and hidden beneath her armor, her stoic expression, and rigid personality.

"We can finally be man and wife, Marcus," Her voice is filled with warmth and yearning, her eyes hopeful as they meet his. "It's what we've always wanted."

"I…I," Marcus found his throat suddenly dry, his eyes transfixed on his friend. He felt an odd sensation come over him.

She smiled at him, extending her hand for him to take.

His eyes still on her, he slowly moved his hand up from his side, reaching over to grab hers. From the corner of his eye he could see Yavena grinning triumphantly. The maliciousness shimmering beneath her eyes it was that jolt that thrummed through him, shaking him out of his stupor and pointing to the realization that none of this was real. These promises were sweet, but costly. He'd lose everything if he succumbed to his desires, his brain would turn to mush, and his body would wither away.

With that realization, he lowered his hand spurning the latest offering from Yavena. When he brought his hand back down towards his waist his fingers brushed against the hilt of a concealed dagger. In an instant he realized he may have found his way out of this nightmare, but in order to seize this opportunity and win his freedom, all he needed now was an opening.

"You claim to be a demon of desire," he challenged, "then prove it."

Her lips peeled back to form a playful smirk at his challenge. Her eyes glistening with the success that she had successfully enthralled him to her will.

"As you wish," She drifted over to him in a slow, seductive manner that gave him plenty of time to rake in her beauty. She radiated sensuality. Her fingers returned to his face, tracing and caressing his cheeks.

Every fiber in him was reacting to her presence, lust stirred in him at her touch. Breathing in her intoxicating scent caused the urges to only further build up threatening to burst. Soaking in her voluptuous form presented before him was enough for any man's will to splinter and crack just so that he could enjoy the pleasures that she promised in the glistening in her eyes, and in the curving of her lips.

The fog was settling in at full force over Marcus, feeling most of his senses being simultaneously attacked by Yavena. He bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to remain cognizant, but with each passing second he felt his control loosening and hers growing.

"Come, my pet," she purred in his ear, sending a shiver through him.

His body reacted to the rich, sensual timbre in her voice, putting a hand on her hip. His thumb going over the smooth skin, appreciating her tout form as it skimmed upwards. When his hand reached her breast, he cupped it, eliciting a moan of pleasure from Yavena that sent a jolt through him. He placed his other hand on the hilt of his concealed dagger, hoping the smooth pommel of the blade would help to keep him focused on the task ahead of him.

Her enchanting dark eyes flashed, flickering with pleasure. Her long fingers went through his beard leaving behind trails of warmth in their wake. She gently tilted his head to the side, and moved in for the kiss.

His blue eyes met her dark purple ones, and looking into them was like staring into the void. The depths were so dark he was sure no light could escape its grasp. He closed his eyes to avoid the enchanting allure that came from hers.

He steadied himself, taking a deep breath with one hand settling around her waist and with the other onto his concealed dagger. He knew he had to time this perfectly if he wanted to escape her domain. He opened his eyes to see her lilac lips hovering inches away from his.

_This was it, _he thought as he closed the distance between him and the demon. He retrieved his dagger from its sheath, and just as his lips were about to skim over hers, he plunged his dagger between her breasts.

"Betrayal!" she hissed, swatting him away. Her eyes flashing dangerously, but as she moved to strike him again, a flicker of pain came across her haughty and fuming expression, looking down to see the dagger protruding in her chest. Her eyes met his one final time before letting out a noise that was a mix between a whimper and a snarl, before her body crumpled to the ground.

She was dead, but Marcus knew he wasn't safe, and that his fight was far from over. He still had to find his companions, and fight the other demons who were holding them captive. Not to mention, they needed to confront the one responsible for putting them here in the first place-the sloth demon.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I want to extend my appreciation to kaysue18, Mike3207, dominicgrim, Janizary, Benskiis, and TheGoldman for taking the time to leave a review. Your incredible support means a lot to me.**

**Sorry for the delay in updating this story.**

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><p><strong>Rising Sun<strong>

**By Spectre4hire**

**Chapter 19**

**Location: Kinloch Hold, Ferelden**

Marcus groaned.

He felt his cheeks against the cold stone floor. He opened his eyes finding himself back in the Tower. The disgusting sight of the corrupted growths that were filled with puss and oozed a nasty smell helped to confirm that he was back. This wasn't the Fade. He had returned. Thankfully, he wasn't alone, he saw the others were with him and they were coming to.

They were back in the infested Tower. It wasn't much better than the Fade. The halls were filled with demons, walking corpses, blood mages, and possessed templars. Marcus had always been wary of mages and his experiences so far in the Tower had only validated those reservations. Every room they walked into seemed to have lurking demons, wandering abominations, and corrupted mages who were quick to turn to Blood Magic.

To fight through these various demons and mages, they were relying heavily on Alistair's templar training. His fellow Grey Warden was able to dispel demons and drain the mana supply that fueled these rebel mages; making it easier for Marcus and the others to attack without fear of being hit or injured by some of the more powerful and potent spells in these mages repertoire. Yet, the task was also very consuming for Alistair. The continued use of his templar abilities was taxing on the Warden.

Marcus had decided that once they were out of the Tower that he would try to persuade Alistair to teach him what he knew. He had a feeling they would come across more demons and other magically wielded enemies throughout this journey, not to mention darkspawn emissaries. It was vital for them for Alistair to share his talent with a select few in case they didn't have Alistair with him when they come across an emissary or two. Marcus only hoped Alistair would consent. So far his attempts to broach his fellow Warden's time with the Chantry had been rebuffed with a few poor jokes.

Even though they were out of the Fade, Marcus could still feel lingering effects during his time there. It was difficult for him to properly explain. He tried to remember what happened to him and the others, but the images were jarring while the voices came to him as echoes.

Marcus could only see partial images, seconds of a particular scene before it faded away. No amount of concentration or willpower was able to summon them back. It led to a confusing rush of images that he couldn't make any sense of.

_Was I a mouse?_

He asked himself after seeing an image of a mouse skittering across the floor.

_How could that be? _ He wondered, finding himself questioning his sanity. The one thing he did know was that he was happy to be out of the Fade. He may not remember what took place there, but he was relieved to finally have escaped it. That place was unsettling. Especially under the control of the Sloth demon who they vanquished to free themselves from the prison it had made for them.

"What a rush!" Hawke exclaimed, breaking through Marcus' musings, "Nothing like fighting demons in the Fade to get your heart pumping."

"Praise the Maker," Leliana said, "We survived."

Padfoot whimpered beside Marcus followed by pressing his cold nose to his face.

"I'm alright, boy," Marcus opened his eyes to see Padfoot's head hovering over him. His mabari let out a happy bark before licking his cheek. He scratched the mabari behind the ears, before pushing himself up to a sitting position. He looked around to see the others were getting up. None of them looked the worse for wear. Besides some weariness in their expressions and some scratches and bruises, everyone looked fine.

"We're all here?" Wynne asked. The elderly mage who had only been around them for a short time had already taken the role of mother hen. Marcus had found it more annoying then endearing.

"Anybody possessed?" Alistair joked.

"Let's not do that again," Bethany said, a look of pain flickered across her face.

"Are you alright, dear?" Wynne asked, making her way over to the apostate.

"I'm fine," she waved off the elderly mage's concerns, "Just a headache."

"That's understandable," Wynne nodded her head. "A trip to the Fade can be taxing."

_That's an understatement,_ Marcus thought, he then sent a quick look in Bethany's direction. To make sure she was alright. She sent him a small nod and a shy smile. Marcus returned her smile, silently wondering why he was so pleased to have received it. Ignoring his lingering thoughts and confusing feelings on the apostate he quickly turned to the others.

"We should get moving."

"Yes, I think I've had enough of these Blood Mages and demons," Alistair agreed. "They're not very good hosts. They didn't set out any tea or even a nice cheese tray to sample from."

"Don't forget the Litany," Wynne pointed out.

"I won't," Marcus said, making his way towards Niall's corpse. He found the Litany among the mage's personal belongings in his bag. He pocketed the important tool needed to fight Blood Magic before turning to the others. He still wasn't sure how it was properly used, but it seemed important, he could only wonder how many more Blood Mages they would come across in this Tower.

* * *

><p>Seeing the Circle like this Hawke couldn't help but be pleased that Bethany was never taken here. He was sure they were seeing it at its worse. He doubted, the templars allowed the demons to gallivant around their halls at their leisure, and Blood Mages to corrupt fellow mages and templars.<p>

_Unless, it was being used for a teaching exercise, _the rogue thought dryly.

Still, even at its best, Hawke would never want this life for his sister. It was deceiving to think she could live here: have friends, be able to practice magic, but Hawke knew his sister would never have been happy. She would be content. Hawke didn't want that for his sister. She deserved to be happy.

In order to protect her it meant implementing sacrifices. It was difficult with the constant moving, but if it meant that his sister and father were free then Hawke was able to do it. When his father died, the burden fell on him to keep the family safe. They had decided to remain in Lothering despite the risks, and with becoming familiar with the templars stationed there, they were able to stay out of trouble.

Walking out of the room where the sloth demon had confronted them, Hawke found it strange to be in the Tower at all. When he was old enough to ask questions about why they were constantly moving, his father told him it had to do with the Templars and the Circle of Magi. That as an apostate he had to avoid the templars or risk being sent away. Not wanting to lose his father, Hawke could remember his younger self determined and willing to leave home after home. And when his sister started to develop magical attributes it became even more important and apparent to keep on the move.

Now here they were both were. Yet, it wasn't in the scenarios that he had feared with her being in the Circle and him coming to visit. No, here they were helping the Templars and the Circle by combating corrupted mages and powerful demons. Bethany didn't have to hide her gift. In fact she was actively using her magic and was contributing greatly in combat. Seeing her fight, he realized that she was quite the powerful mage, and that father had taught her well.

He still didn't like how Marcus had manipulated Hawke's family to get them to fight for him, but he couldn't argue with some its results, despite his best attempts to. Bethany was happy to be free, and not have to hide. While Carver who wasn't with them, Hawke knew his brother was happy at being able to showcase his own talents with this opportunity to help save Ferelden.

It still just didn't sit right with him. He knew they were probably better off here then at Kirkwall. Yet, he got the feeling that Marcus viewed them all as pawns to be used to stop the Blight by any means. There was this certain detachment he had with the others in their group that led Hawke to believe that he wanted to keep his distance from them. It was as if he wanted to be distant so that he could remain impartial and be willing to make the hard choices needed and expected to confront the Blight.

It was a far cry of the man who Hawke had fought with before the Battle of Ostagar. That was a man who Hawke actually liked. This Marcus Cousland seemed only to be a ghost of his previous self. It led him to continue to wonder what had happened in the duration from their last battle in Southron Hills to now that could impact Marcus so profoundly. Hawke knew Marcus' recruitment into the Grey Wardens probably had a large part to play in this change.

"How many more floors are there?" Marcus asked.

"If Uldred is in the Harrowing Chamber then just one more," Wynne answered.

"Good," Marcus sounded relieved.

Hawke couldn't blame him. He too had had enough of this place. Fighting demons got boring fairly quickly and all these stairs didn't make it any better. The sooner they were done here the better. After this ordeal in the tower all Hawke wanted was some ale and some decent hot grub. He snuck a glance at the former lay sister. _Well, maybe one more thing._

The two were in the back of the group.

"I have something for you," he announced suddenly, but quietly enough so that the others ahead of them couldn't hear.

She turned to him, "Truly?"

"Yeah," he retrieved the golden Chantry amulet he took off a corpse on one of the earlier floors. He held it out to her, "I thought you might like it."

She smiled brightly, "It's beautiful."

"You like it?" he asked, he had been a bit nervous that she may already have something like it, or worse she wouldn't like it.

"Yes," she was still smiling, as she took the amulet from his hand, the brush of her fingers against his brought a warm sensation to his chest. He saw a certain flicker in her expression. _Could she have felt something too? _

"Do you see these carvings," she held up the amulet, but his eyes tended to drift back towards her face. He couldn't help it, she had beautiful eyes. It didn't help him that he had always had harbored an affection towards her when she was a lay sister in Lothering. He remembered the stories she use to tell, and the songs she use to sing. He had never heard a voice as angelic as hers.

"Ugh, yeah," he replied, realizing she was expecting an answer. She turned to him, catching him watching her, but instead of chiding him, she only laughed, her eyes shimmering in amusement.

"These carvings depict the Andraste's dying flame," she told him.

"Fascinating," he said, he had thought the carvings were all gibberish when he examined it earlier, but he knew that wouldn't be wise to share with her.

"This was a thoughtful gift," her fingers ran across the golden chain. "Thank you ever so much."

"May I?" he offered.

She smiled and nodded, handing him back the Chantry Amulet and turning around. She brushed aside her red hair to give him access to her neck. He successfully tied the golden chain. "There," he announced.

She turned around, sending him another smile.

He returned it, very pleased with himself at how well the gift went over with her. He could see the amulet had nestled itself right between her…

"Hawke!" Marcus called out for him.

Snapping out of his previous thought, he looked up to see the others had gone off ahead without the two rogues. Hopefully, they only now just noticed their absence and hadn't been watching the scene between Hawke and Leliana unfold. "What?"

"I need you up here," Marcus said bluntly, "I need to know if they placed any traps."

"At your service," Hawke said glibly, snapping off a salute as he made his way towards the group, Leliana following him. He knew Marcus had a point in wanting to check for traps, Hawke had already disarmed a few flimsy ones. He wasn't sure if the traps were for mages or the demons, but he had a hard time believing that the traps would cause any sort of harm to either groups.

He made his way to the front of the group, noticing a knowing smile on his sister's face. So it seemed he hadn't been as fortunate as he had hoped. At least someone had watched him give his gift to Leliana. However, he knew his shy sister well enough to know she wouldn't gossip to the others with what she saw. Not to mention, she knew if she did, he could bring up her apparent affection towards their leader, Marcus. Whether the feeling was mutual Hawke couldn't figure that part out yet.

"Anything?" Marcus asked.

Hawke surveyed the ground before him. There was nothing. No flimsy or concealed traps. "We're clear."

"Good," Marcus nodded, "Then let's keep moving."

"Wait," he held them up from going into the room. Something was off.

It was then that he could hear what sounded like skittering footsteps, but it wasn't from any creature he had ever heard. The ranger frowned. He was well rehearsed with most animals, as was the nature of his skills to be well acquainted with the wild life, but this was something very different.

There was a flurry of movement from the room before he finally saw the source. He only recognized the animal because he remembered the old stories. It was a dragonling, and there was a lot of them coming at them. Slightly larger than mabaris, they had long necks, sharp claws, and a powerful tail. Not to mention a mouthful of sharp teeth and the ability to spit bursts of flames.

"They have pet dragons," he deadpanned, turning to the others.

"What?" Marcus asked incredulously, moving forward to see the small, but dangerous creatures coming towards them. He raised his shield in time just when one of the dragonlings let loose a rope of fire.

Hawke too had to do a quick jump back to avoid the flames, feeling the heat of the fire wash over him.

"Bethany, Wynne, we need some help," Marcus called over his shoulder.

He couldn't agree more with the Warden's assessment, Hawke was slashing and cutting his way through the small dragonlings, but it was difficult, they had tough hides, and he had to avoid their claws, and the occasional fire burst.

Hawke slid his dagger into the soft underbelly of one of the small dragonlings, as it collapsed onto its belly it pinned Hawke's hand under its weight. He gritted his teeth trying to pull his hand out from under it. He heard a sudden growl; he turned to see a dragonling right by him. It opened its maw, and Hawke could see the spark of fire in its throat, but it was suddenly silenced by an arrow that pierced through its snout. It cried out in pain, but a second arrow to the throat silenced it, as it fell to the ground, dead.

Hawke turned and was not surprised to see his savior being Leliana, since she was the only one of them who favored the bow. She flashed him a smile before notching another bow to her arrow and continued her assault on the charging dragonlings.

Alistair and Marcus' mabari, Padfoot joined them on the front. The Warden favored the shield and sword, using his shield to take refuge from the fire before advancing on them with his sword. Padfoot was undeterred by the fire breathing dragonlings. The mabari was able to evade the flames before moving in to slash and bite at the exposed flesh on the dragonling's soft underbelly and neck.

Bethany and Wynne made their presence known by launching an assault of ice spells on the dragonlings that severely weakened them, and even froze some instantly. Those were shattered by Marcus and Alistair and their shields. When the last one fell, there was quite the pile of corpses strewn about.

"Why would they have dragons?" asked a confused Bethany, looking over one of the dead dragonlings.

"They're for study," Wynne answered.

"You knew about them?" asked a surprised Marcus.

"Naturally," she answered smoothly, "as an Enchanter it was sometimes my duty to teach them to the mages."

Hawke noticed that confirmation didn't make Marcus very happy. He didn't look very impressed either. "You should have warned us that we could be up against them."

"I had no idea that they would be loose," she defended weakly.

"We're fighting blood mages and demons," Marcus countered. "Of course they would get loose."

Hawke had to agree with Marcus on his point. It was a big mistake not to tell them that they could be facing these creatures. Surprises got people killed.

He wasn't sure Marcus saw the withering look the older mage sent his way. It was quite clear Wynne wasn't use to being publicly admonished. It seemed she was use to giving lectures and scolding others as an enchanter and never receiving any.

"Are these all the dragonlings?" Marcus asked pointedly.

Wynne looked around the room. She seemed to be counting the corpses, when a frown came to her lips.

_That couldn't be good news, _Hawke thought wryly.

"We have a drake," she revealed hesitantly.

"A drake?" Marcus didn't hide his disbelief, "In the tower?"

"That's right," Wynne confirmed.

"Unbelievable," Marcus shook his head.

Before the conversation could go any further, a bellowing roar could be heard.

"That must be the drake," Hawke said dryly.

It appeared before them coming from the other room. It towered over them, from the tip of its tail to its head it was at least ten feet long. Scaled body, serpentine neck, a triangular shaped head with powerful jaws filled with razor sharp teeth. It's long, spiked tail swayed back and forth. It didn't have wings like its female high dragon counterparts, but it was the nonetheless an impressive creature.

The drake charged them without hesitation, opening its maw to let loose a pillar of flames that had them scattering for protection. Hawke had to dive behind a broken bookshelf to avoid the flames. Peering over it in time to see Alistair and Marcus had used their shields to deflect the flames and were now hacking at it with their swords, cutting and slashing and trying to hit the exposed vital points of the creature.

Leliana was attacking it from a distance with her bow, but most of her arrows deflected off the drake. It's scaled body was able to repel the arrows. Padfoot was scurrying underneath the drake's underbelly, biting and clawing at it.

The drake swung his tail towards Marcus and Alistair to put some distance between itself and them. The spiky tail was just as ferocious as a war hammer as it pummeled the floor where Marcus had just been standing second ago. It bellowed another mighty roar, and looked ready to let loose another pillar of flames but Wynne looked ready for it.

A stone fist materialized and smashed into the drake's jaw. The drake reeled backwards from the sheer force behind the attack, standing on its rear legs, and leaving itself vulnerable.

The others took quick advantage. Leliana let loose a series of arrows that peppered the drake's underbelly, while Marcus and Alistair were able to finish it off. Alistair delivered the killing blow, as the drake crumpled to the ground.

"We should collect some of its scales," Bethany observed. "They're valuable."

Marcus nodded, impressed with her idea. "Alright, but let's be quick."

She smiled and went about collecting up some of the scales from the dead drake with Alistair helping. Leliana was collecting her arrows and returning them to her quiver, Wynne was busying herself making a great effort to avoid Marcus.

Hawke could only smile at that. Clearly, she wasn't pleased at how she was being treated by him. Yet, he had a hard time feeling sorry for her. It was odd for Hawke to find himself siding with Marcus after their own arguments and the rogue's own wariness regarding the Warden, but here he believed Marcus was in the right.

Wynne had been wrong for not telling them about the potential threat of fighting dragonlings and a drake. The problem was that she didn't seem to think so, and was going to continue to act like she was slighted by him. Aware, there was no end in sight. Hawke was ready for the awkward silence between the Warden and the Enchanter.

He saw Marcus turn to him, the Warden suddenly tensed and his stoic demeanor darkened, for a second Hawke thought the Warden was glowering at him…

"Don't move," a new voice spoke.

Hawke felt something poke him in the back.

"And turn around slowly," the voice added. It was definitely female.

"Which is it?" Hawke asked glibly. "I can't do both for you."

He looked to see the others had noticed the intruder as well.

Padfoot was growling, Bethany and Wynne were frowning, both holding their staffs, Leliana had her bow with an arrow notched. Marcus took a step towards Hawke, his sword and shield at the ready. While the other Warden, Alistair had dropped the bag of drake scales and withdrew his sword from its sheath.

"Then turn around," the female voice replied tersely.

Hawke did. Slowly turning around to meet the intruder, discovering her to be a young woman, with hair as white as snow done up in an elaborate knot. A few of the tresses had slipped out and helped to frame her face. She had sharp blue eyes. Her hands were gripping her staff which she had used to poke Hawke in the back. Looking closely at her hands, he noticed a number of scars along her palms, and arms, some of them were scabs, while others looked freshly cut.

His short time in the Tower had Hawke realize at once who he was dealing with-another blood mage.

"Solona?" asked Wynne in disbelief, "You are part of Uldred's coup?"

The mage known as Solona turned to Wynne, "Does that surprise you?"

"Lower the staff," Marcus interceded, taking another step towards her.

She responded by leveling her staff at Hawke. "Don't you dare take another step!"

"I'd rather not turn into an abomination," Hawke put in dryly.

Marcus stopped, but he kept his sword and shield raised. He didn't bother to hide his distaste, scowling at the blood mage.

"Your future was so bright," Wynne pointed out. "Why would you waste it on this foolish endeavor?"

"Foolish endeavor?" Solona sneered, "The only foolish endeavor was bowing to the Chantry. We should be the ones in charge."

"Is that what the demons told you?" Hawke asked.

"Quiet," she hissed, poking him hard with the bladed edge of her staff.

He couldn't hide the wince, at the burst of pain that flared up where the blade cut flesh.

"Please don't," Bethany said unable to shield her concern.

"Don't harm him," Marcus warned. "Or you won't be getting out of here alive."

_That threat almost sounded genuine, _Hawke thought to himself. If he didn't know better Marcus was actually concerned about his well being.

"You're not in a position to make threats," Solona growled. "I am in control!"

"What do you want?"Marcus asked warily.

"That is up to Uldred to decide," Solona answered, "I will take you to him." She jabbed Hawke again with her staff, "turn back around."

He did, turning back to see the others were watching him. Marcus was openly glaring at the mage, his jaw clenched, and his weapons raised. Bethany was looking at Hawke, unable to hide her concern for his well being, he sent her a small smile to try to alleviate her fears. It seemed to work since she sent him one in return.

Alistair gave him a tight nod, but his eyes kept flickering over towards Marcus and then the mage. Wynne was frowning at Solona, but when her eyes met his, they softened and she gave him an encouraging nod, while her eyes showed her growing concern at the situation.

Leliana still had her arrow notched to her bow, but she wasn't smiling. Her blue eyes usually so soft and warm were now hard, her lips quick to smile were pressed in a thin line. When her eyes did fall on him, they softened, and the corner of her lips twitched, before shifting her attention and directing her anger back towards the mage, Solona.

Hawke who doubted that Marcus or the others would allow themselves to be led by this blood mage, Solona to her leader, but also wasn't sure how this situation was going to play out. He then noticed Marcus give a subtle nod towards Alistair, and then there was suddenly a burst of light before he felt something hard hit him in the back that had him stumbling backwards only to see an arrow wiz by him before hearing a gurgled cough.

Getting his balance, he turned to see Solona on the ground, an arrow through her chest.

"Are you alright?" Bethany was the first to get to him, hugging him when she reached him.

He returned her hug. "I'm fine, sis," he tried to comfort her. "You know no blood mage could get to me."

He looked over his sister's shoulder to see Leliana watching, he sent her a wink and a smile. She shook her head playfully, but couldn't fight the smile that came to her lips.

"Thanks for that," Hawke said to the approaching Warden.

"I didn't hit you, did I?" asked a worried Alistair.

Hawke waved off the concern, "Nothing, I couldn't handle." He looked to see Marcus remained where he was, not making an effort to join Hawke and the others. Despite the Warden's continued show of indifference and aloofness towards the others, he knew that Marcus had a part to play in freeing him from the blood mage. He sent him an acknowledging, but subtle nod which Marcus returned.

Wynne had gone over to the dead mage. "Poor Solona, she was one of my brightest students."

"Hopefully, she will finally find some level of peace in the arms of the Maker," Leliana bowed her head.

Hawke wanted to point out that was doubtful. He wasn't a chantry scholar, but he did seriously doubt that blood mages were greeted with open arms of the Maker. If anything wouldn't she be looking at an eternity of punishment and suffering for defiling Chantry laws? He stopped in his theological musings, not wanting to get a headache.

"Rest in peace," Wynne murmured softly, "Solona Amell."

Hawke immediately perked at what the enchanter said. He was sure he thought he heard her say Amell. He wasn't the only one. He heard a soft gasp coming from his sister.

"What was her name?" Hawke asked needing confirmation.

"Solona Amell," answered Wynne, looking confused. "Why?"

Bethany let out a soft cry, looking at the mage with wide eyes. Hawke gently put his arm around her. He too found himself looking at the dead woman in front of him differently. He couldn't believe it. He had heard the stories his mum told them about how one her cousins had sent one or two of their children to the Circle, but he never thought to find one of them in this very Circle.

Not only did they find her, but they killed her. That revelation caused his stomach to clench.

"What is it?" Leliana asked.

"Do you know her?" asked Alistair.

He was aware that he and Bethany were getting some strange looks from the others. "No, we didn't know her." He sighed. "But she was our cousin."

* * *

><p>"It is over," announced a weary Knight-Commander, as if he had personally participated in the battle against demons and blood mages.<p>

"Yes," Marcus confirmed, keeping quiet on his own thoughts. The battle with Uldred had proven difficult, especially when the blood mage transformed into a towering pride demon, but thankfully with the help of the Litany, they were able to keep him from corrupting the other captured mages including the First Enchanter Irving.

"You have done a great service to this Circle," the First Enchanter proclaimed, still a bit drained from his time as Uldred's captive.

"It isn't over," argued the templar known as Cullen who had been imprisoned, and tortured by the Blood Mages. "Uldred tortured these mages! Hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations." He turned to the First Enchanter, suspiciously, "We don't know how many have been turned."

"What?" asked an outraged Irving, some of his strength was returning. "Don't be ridiculous boy."

"Of course he'll say that," Cullen pointing at him. "He might be a Blood Mage." He then turned to the Knight-Commander. "Don't you know what they did?" There was an underlying plea in his tone. "I can't let that happen again."

Marcus silently agreed with Cullen's viewpoint. Despite the templar's time under the Blood Mages and the stress and torture put on his mind, he did make a compelling point. It was very possible that Marcus and the others didn't get all of the Blood Mages. It was a disconcerting thought to think that some demons were lying dormant in the rescued mages, waiting for the next opportunity that was presented to them to try again.

"I am the Knight-Commander," Greagoir reminded Cullen firmly.

"We can rebuild," Irving assured them. "The Circle will go on."

"Very well," Greagoir agreed. "We have won back the tower and I accept Irving's assurances."

Cullen was not pleased with the decision and tried to argue, but when he was overruled again by Greagoir, he left in a huff.

"He needs time," Irving said softly. "Time to recover from the ordeals they put him through."

Yes," Greagoir agreed, before adding, "I'll have someone keep an eye on him so that he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else."

"About the treaties?" Marcus asked, interrupting the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter.

"You have proven yourself a friend of the Circle and the Templars," Greagoir replied. "When the time comes, you will have the full might of the Templar Order and the Fereldan Circle of Magi at your disposal."

"Thank you," Marcus said, relieved that the mission was over, and pleased that he was able to get them to honor the Grey Warden treaties. He was far from over, but by recruiting both the Templars and the Circle he was off to a good start.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So yeah, I decided to have Marcus get both the templars and the Circle.**

**Also expect more fallout from Solona Amell being killed. It might not be an easy thing to forget for Hawke and Bethany. **

**Again, I apologize for the delay in updating this story. I decided to rewrite parts of the plot, including this story arc. It took me longer than I expected, and I'm still not a 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I did want to show those who've been patiently waiting that I hadn't forgotten about this story and that by no means was it abandoned.**

**Until next time,**

**-Spectre4hire**


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